


Tale As Old As Time

by flightlessxbird



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Hostage Situations, Kidnapping, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1650047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightlessxbird/pseuds/flightlessxbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Gallagher owes almost the entire state of Illinois money, and the Milkoviches have come to collect. Ian walks in on their attempt to scare Frank into getting the money sooner and ends up with a gun in his face. It doesn't take much for Frank to convince the brothers Milkovich into taking Ian as leverage but holding the young redhead hostage may prove more than a bit problematic for Mickey, especially when Ian can see right through him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Be Our Guest

**Author's Note:**

> Just an idea I've been playing with after I was watching Beauty and the Beast the other day. Hope you all enjoy!

The last thing Ian Gallagher had expected when he walked into his house was a Colt .45 pointed right between his eyes. He had to admit that it was a fucking beautifully made gun, and polished to an actual shine from the sun streaming in through the window. It probably wasn’t the best time to be admiring the gun that was cocked in his face but he knew better than to freak out so praising the handiwork was the best choice for now. He let his eyes refocus from the barrel of the gun to the guy who wielded it. Ian wasn’t sure who he was expecting, but the short stack with the baby blue eyes definitely wasn’t it. His eyes were darting around and his mouth was half open, his jaw jutting out. Clearly, he hadn’t expected Ian to walk in on whatever little heist he and the three men behind him had going. He heard his father’s pathetic pleading coming from behind the wide-eyed gunman.  
“L-look, I just need more time, I’ll get it to you as soon as I—“ Frank caught sight of Ian as he stole a glance at his disgrace of a father on his knees with another gunman pointing a Beretta M9 to his temple.

“Shut the fuck up, Frank!” Ian and the gunman seemed to shout in unison and the redhead found the gun being pressed harder into the middle of his forehead. He held his hands up in surrender in an attempt to calm the guy and was rewarded by having the gun removed from his face. Only now it was pressed into his chest.

“Ian!” Frank’s voice made Ian roll his eyes out of instinct. “Ian, tell these fine boys I’m good for my debts.” Ian chanced a look at him and scoffed with a grimace.

“You mean we’re good for your debts.” Ian gestured to the few family pictures of the kids around the house before turning his attention to the blue-eyed gunman. “Whatever he owes you, you probably won’t get any time soon. Not from him anyway.” He regretted it as soon as it left his lips, the formation of an idea spreading across Frank’s face.

“I’m good for it if you give me a chance. I’ll get you your money, just let me go out and get it.”

“No can do, Frank.” A little smile of confidence teased at the corner of the gunman’s face and he pressed the gun harder against Ian’s heart. Ian would never let it show how freaked out he was, but he couldn’t help but wonder if somehow his heartbeat could be felt through the chambers of the gun all the way to the other boy’s palm. It didn’t help that he was staring at Ian, his eyes moving cautiously over his body and sizing him up. “I let you go, you run. Don’t act like I don’t fuckin’ know your act.” 

“Come on Mickey, then don’t. Take Ian! He’s my son, I’ll come back for him with the money. Hostages are always a good deal, right? Take him for ransom.” Ian’s smile vanished in an instant. He tilted his head to glare at Frank with so much hatred he thought he could actually make his father combust into flames. He felt the cold metal of the Colt pressing into his jaw line as “Mickey” used it to turn Ian’s attention back to him. His face was growing hot with anger as he looked into those blue eyes which now seemed thoughtful and calculating. After another moment of sizing Ian up, he seemed to reach a decision.

“I can work with that,” he tilted his head in Frank’s direction, though his eyes never left Ian’s. “You got a week Gallagher. Any longer than that and, well…” Mickey’s lips twitched into a dark smirk. “I can’t promise that Firecrotch over here’s gonna be part of the deal anymore.” The brunet slowly turned his head back to Ian and before he could react to the impromptu nickname, he felt the cold sting of metal digging into his temple and his vision went black, his knees buckling beneath him as he fell to the floor unconscious.

 

“Fuuuhhck,” Ian let out a long, painful groan as he woke up. His temple was throbbing swollen where he’d been pistol-whipped earlier and his surroundings were different. He was no longer in his living room with Frank and the gunmen, but the sun had now set and he was in a darkened room with his hands cuffed above his head. He was going to fucking kill Frank when he got out of this. As his eyes started to adjust, he looked around the room to see if there was a way out but huffed in frustration as he realized the room was sealed off. It must have been a guest room or a basement.

“Mick! Mick you piece a’ shit let me out!” He pulled at the restraints, screaming at the top of his lungs in the hopes someone outside could hear him even if it was a neighbor or passersby

“Shut the fuck up, Gallagher.” Ian jumped when he heard the blue-eyed boy’s voice from just a few feet away. He peered into the dark and saw a slumped form under the blankets of a mattress that was set up on the floor in the corner of the room. He cocked an eyebrow and relaxed into the handcuffs.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping, what does it look like?”

“Okay,” Ian said slowly. “I mean what are you doing in here?”

“Sleeping. Now get off my ass, man.”

“You my chaperone or somethin’?”

“Fuck. Off.”

“Or what, short stack?” Ian knew he should have started to keep his mouth shut when he saw the silhouette of the kid getting up and marching over, kneeling before him and shoving the Colt up into his chin.

“Or I’m gonna unload this clip into your throat.” Ian really should have shut up then and there. But it seemed one thing that came with the Gallagher blood was some kind of fucked up extra chromosome that made him physically unable to shut the fuck up.

“No thanks, but I’ll tell you what you can unload in my throat,” he gave his best flirtatious smirk, fully intending to piss Mickey off. He expected to get pistol-whipped again or some other form of fag bashing, but it never came. Instead, Mickey stared coldly into the redhead’s gaze. His narrowed eyes pierced into Ian’s and he leaned closer in toward the boy in bondage.

“Keep your goddamned mouth shut or you can consider your face fucked.” Ian wasn’t sure what look had passed between him and his kidnapper, but it wasn’t the look of disgust and hatred that he was expecting. He even thought he heard a double entendre behind Mickey’s words even as he pressed the barrel of the gun into his jaw harder for emphasis.

“Is that a threat, Mick?” Ian watched and hid a grin as he watched Mickey’s tongue dart out over his bottom lip quickly, his eyebrows raised impossibly high. “Or a promise?” He could have sworn that the ghost of a smirk hung at Mickey’s lips, but he huffed and headed back to his mattress too quickly for Ian to know for sure. Ian knew he shouldn’t be treating this like a game; though he had to entertain himself in some way, right?


	2. I Was Trying To Be Hospitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey is finding it hard to say no to Ian Gallagher and it almost costs him his hostage.

The last thing Mickey Milkovich had expected when he heard door open behind him was the beautiful redhead who strolled inside, all cock of the walk like he owned the damn place. Well, of course he did; it was his house. Mickey and his brothers were the ones who didn’t belong there. He found himself shoving the gun into the boy’s forehead, if only in an attempt to line up the center of the barrel with a particularly light freckle between his eyes. According to Frank, Ian was his son. They looked absolutely nothing alike. Frank was coarse and disgusting; just downright unpleasant to even be on the same side of the street with. But Ian was gorgeous and clean-cut. He absolutely radiated charm and what pissed Mickey off was how calm and even confident he seemed. He had a gun pointed to his chest now and he didn’t even seem to bat an eyelash. Mickey was the one with the gun. He was the one who was supposed to be cocky and in charge. But something in the way Ian watched him told him he wasn’t in charge anymore.  
One thing Terri Milkovich always impressed upon his kids was never take a hostage if the debtor didn’t care. And yet here Mickey was; lying on an old mattress in his basement watching Ian Gallagher sleep while his shithead father was out God knows where, probably not even thinking about his kid or the ransom. It had been incredibly stupid for him to even think about it but he’d agreed a little too quick for his own liking, and since he was the one who’d agreed to it in the first place, his brothers made him take the first night watch. He could have easily said he just wanted to knock the kid out and take him hostage to regain what little control he had before Ian’s arrival, but he knew that was bullshit. He knew Ian wouldn’t have gone without a fight, so he avoided it. Mickey started to wonder if he was ever going to wake up when he started to stir later that night. Mickey hurriedly buried his face into the pillow and entombed himself in blankets, trying to make it seem as if he were asleep and not watching Ian. He felt as though he would suffocate under the blankets until Ian had started screaming to the heavens about what a piece of shit Mickey was.  
“Shut the fuck up, Gallagher.” Mickey forced himself to sound as groggy as possible, but he was sure it sounded fake.  
“What are you doing?” ‘Fuck,’ Mickey thought. There was the smallest trace of suspicion in Ian’s voice and it was making Mick start to sweat. That or he was just incredibly paranoid.  
“Sleeping, what does it look like?”  
“Okay,” Ian slowed down his speech as if Mickey were stupid, which only made his blood boil. “I mean what are you doing in here?”  
“Sleeping. Now get off my ass, man.”  
“You my chaperone or somethin’?”  
“Fuck. Off.”  
“Or what, short stack?” Ian’s snide tone plucked at Mickey’s last nerve and he picked up his Colt and knelt in front of him, jamming the gun up into his chin. He still kept that mocking, lopsided grin.  
“Or I’m gonna unload this clip into your throat,” he hissed.  
“No thanks,” Ian’s grin quickly faded into a lascivious smirk. “But I’ll tell you what you can unload in my throat.” Mickey faltered. The visuals that rushed into his mind were less than innocent. He stared vacantly into Ian’s mischievous eyes. He was thinking about it so hard he could almost feel Ian’s warm, inviting mouth around his cock. He pressed the barrel of the gun harder into the redhead’s jaw, intent on getting his point across (as well as to keep him from looking down at Mick’s unexpected visitor.)  
“Keep your goddamned mouth shut or you can consider your face fucked.”  
“Is that a threat Mick?” Ian’s voice went husky and low, a smile teasing at his lips. “Or a promise?” Mickey’s eyes flicked to Ian’s lips for a moment and he licked his bottom lip involuntarily, trying to hide his smirk as he pushed off the concrete floor to go lie back in bed and try to forget all about the beautiful boy smirking behind him. Mickey wasn’t sure yet exactly what kind of game Ian Gallagher was playing, but he didn't think he'd particularly mind losing to him.  
Mickey woke up the next morning to find Ian staring him down, a solemn expression on his face. He stared back for a few moments, his mouth hanging open until he finally shook his head and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  
“What the fuck are you looking at?”  
“Nothing. I’m just bored. Isn’t there anything better to do here than be tied up against a wall?” Ian pouted exaggeratedly for a moment before that big crooked grin spread across his face. “Actually, being tied up isn’t so bad. I do need more entertainment, though. Care to entertain me, Mickey?” Mickey’s breath hitched in his throat but he managed to keep a straight face. He shook his head and got up, stretching and making sure to show off the Colt he still clutched in his hand. The kid still wasn’t afraid of him, just sat there with that grin. It was starting to piss him off so he went upstairs to make himself breakfast. He was halfway through his eggs before he heard screaming from downstairs. He dropped the plate and ran down the stairs to the basement so fast he didn’t hear the plate shatter behind him until he’d already reached the first step. When he reached the bottom step and hurried inside, he saw Ian sitting still against the wall and looking up at him with an innocent expression.  
“What are you screaming about?” Mickey hissed.  
“I’m bored,” he said simply. Mickey had to resist the urge to clock him over the head with the gun. Instead, he stood over Ian and pointed the gun at his face.  
“Then entertain yourself, shithead. Or I’ll give you something to scream about.”  
“You sure about that?” Ian looks up at Mickey and leans forward, running his tongue along the length of the gun. “Wouldn’t you rather be the one screaming?”  
“Fuck off, Firecrotch.” Mickey’s voice sounded strained even to himself as he tried to keep control.  
“Come on, what are you so afraid of?”  
“Shut the fuck up.”  
“Make me.” Ian cocked an eyebrow suggestively and took the gun in his mouth, sucking on it slow and deep. Mickey knew exactly what game Ian was playing now. As he watched him work his mouth around the gun, he told himself he wasn’t going to fall for this shit. He told himself this even as he was halfway out of his jeans. He pushed his boxers down a bit and Ian was looking up at him through dark eyelashes that made his knees weak. Mickey pulled the gun out of his mouth and tossed it to the mattress in the corner of the basement. Before he’d turned his head back to Ian, he felt the warmth of Ian’s mouth wrap around his cock and he let out a quiet groan.  
Mickey always had a policy of no unnecessary touching. He reminded himself of this policy even as he started running his fingers through Ian’s hair, noting how soft it was and how much he loved grabbing and tugging at it. Even Ian seemed to like having it pulled as he was encouraged to moan around him and suck faster. His teeth grazed over the skin at times and his tongue massaged the underside of Mickey’s cock and he knew at this rate he wouldn’t last much longer. Mickey leaned his palm against the wall since he didn’t trust himself to stand properly anymore. He felt Ian’s lips turn into a smirk as he deep-throated Mickey and he finally couldn’t hold back anymore. Mickey did something he’s never and would never have done before. He moaned out Ian’s name and looked down into the redhead’s eyes as he hit his climax. Ian swallowed it down, letting Mickey ride out the orgasm until he finally pulled away. Mickey’s legs felt like jelly so he hurriedly pulled his pants back up and sat on the floor in front of Ian, panting quietly.  
“That was much better than just holding a gun to my face, yeah?” Ian licked his lips and looked Mickey up and down.  
“Fuck off, okay?” He tried to sound bitter but his voice was still a bit weak.  
“Can you untie me now?” Ian’s expression softened. Mickey scoffed and buttoned his jeans back up.  
“Yeah, right. You really think I’m that stupid?” Mickey ran his thumb over his lip thoughtfully as he watched Ian’s smile fade completely. “Look, if my brothers come to make sure everything’s cool and they see you just walking around like you own the place, I’m the one who gets my ass kicked.”  
“I’ll stay down here then.”  
“You’ll run.”  
“You think I’m stupid, Mick?” Ian laughed and shook his head. “I run and have the entire Milkovich clan after me? Yeah, what a great idea.”  
“It’s not happening, Gallagher. Drop it.”  
Ian’s hands went limp in the restraints and he leaned his head back against the wall. He seemed to think for a while before he finally looked back at Mickey. “Can you at least tie me up at the mattress? My ass is numb from sitting here.”  
“Fine, whatever. No bullshit though, okay?” Mickey thought of picking the gun back up to make sure Ian understood, but considering he had it down his throat a few minutes ago Mickey didn’t think it would have much impact.  
“Sure, I just wanna get some rest.” The sincerity in Ian’s eyes finally broke Mickey. He cursed under his breath and pulled the chain of the cuffs up over the coat hook on the wall. He was cautious at first, but when he saw how slack Ian was, he figured he wasn’t going to try anything. He was pulling Ian by the chain of the cuffs when he felt a hard kick land in the middle of his back, sending him to the floor. He didn’t let go of the chain so he ended up taking Ian down with him. Ian quickly got Mickey’s wrists over his head and straddled his chest.  
“Give me the keys, Mickey!” Ian’s expression had gone dark, no trace of that lopsided grin.  
“No chance, Gallagher.” Mickey felt sick and he wasn’t sure why. Something about the betrayal didn’t sit well with him and he scolded himself mentally. This was his fucking hostage, he shouldn’t be as upset as he was. Mickey managed to wrap his legs around Ian’s chest and flip him off of him, scrambling to get on top of him and pull him back to the mattress. He unlocked one of the cuffs and locked it back onto a pipe near the mattress and Ian used his free hand to rear back and hit Mickey.  
“You’re a fucking dick!” He got up and kicked Ian in the side, the redhead going limp for a moment before curling up on the mattress, grabbing the blankets and pulling them over himself. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted a Gallagher,” he spat at him and picked the gun up from the floor, heading back upstairs, still weak from his orgasm, to clean up the broken plate he'd left up there. He was done playing Ian’s fucking games. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.


	3. I've Been Burnt By You Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian lying to Mickey left a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he'll have to put that aside when he sees that something is seriously wrong with his hostage.

The house had gone eerily still and silent since Mickey and Ian’s fight. Mickey wasn’t sure what to do with himself all day. He alternated between watching TV and peeking into the basement to make sure Ian was still down there. He hadn’t moved a muscle all day, he just lied there on the mattress with the blankets over his face. He still didn't feel right about how easily Ian had manipulated him. It was like all he had to do was flash that sincere-looking grin and Mickey was clay in his hands. It hurt him and it fucking pissed him off that it hurt. Nothing should have hurt. He was Mickey Milkovich and this piece of shit hostage wasn't supposed to make him feel so sick about being lied to. He glanced down the stairs again. Ian still hadn't moved. Mickey was starting to wonder if he’d suffocated and died or something when he headed downstairs to check on him again.  
“You okay?” No response. Mickey could barely pick up the faint rise and fall of Ian’s chest under the blankets, but he wasn’t moving otherwise. “Are you hungry?” Mickey asked lamely. Still no answer. Normally being ignored would have pissed Mickey off but something felt wrong. Mickey sighed and headed back upstairs, ready to make the kid eat whether he wanted to or not. He went through the kitchen for a while before he finally found some mac and cheese to warm up. He grabbed two beers from the fridge and filled two bowls of the mac and cheese, carrying them down to the basement and sitting cross-legged next to the mattress.  
“Hey,” he said after a long while. Ian still didn’t respond. He lied there completely limp, his quiet and labored breathing seeming to be the only sound in the house. Mickey pushed one of the bowls and a beer toward Ian. “Made you dinner. You gotta eat.” Ian still wasn’t doing anything but fucking breathing and Mickey felt sick.  
“Ian. You have to eat.” Mickey grabbed Ian’s shoulder and forced him to turn around and look at him. The vacant look that Ian gave him made Mickey’s stomach do flips.   
“Ian.” He tried to sound a little softer, shaking Ian’s shoulder. It was like it wasn’t Ian staring back at him, just black holes where his eyes once were.  
“Go away.”  
“No.”  
“Go the fuck away, Mick.” Ian tried to turn away again but Mickey kept a strong hold on his shoulder.  
“Not until you eat and tell me what your problem is.”   
“None of your fucking business,” Ian spat and tried to wriggle out of Mickey’s grip. “Now leave me alone.”  
“Humor me for ten minutes, okay?” Mickey didn’t like the pleading sound of his own voice, but it seemed to get Ian’s attention.  
“Fine.” Ian hissed and relaxed back against the mattress.  
“Come on man, sit up.” Mickey slipped a hand under Ian’s back and, much to the redhead’s disliking, helped him sit up and lean against the wall where his left hand was still cuffed to a pipe. He set the bowl in Ian’s lap and Ian picked at the food with the fork for a while, not really looking at Mickey or trying to eat.  
“So what’s the story,” Mickey prompted, shoveling a spoonful of mac and cheese in his mouth. Ian glanced up at Mickey indecisively. He watched him quietly for a while before taking a sip of his beer and setting it down next to him.  
“No story,” Ian shrugged.   
“Don’t be a dick, Firecrotch. Just tell me.”  
“It’s nothing…” Ian took a small mouthful of food and looked up to see the skeptical stare Mickey was giving him. “Look it’s just… I haven’t taken my meds in like, two days. I feel like shit.” Ian’s face fell even more as he saw the way Mickey’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “You happy now, Mickey?”  
“What meds are you taking?” Mickey tried to sound nonchalant, taking a long swig of beer as he heard Ian scoff.  
“More like what meds aren’t I taking,” he spoke with his mouth full of mac and cheese.  
“What do you have?”  
“Shitty DNA,” Ian chuckled sadly and leaned his head back against the wall. "Bipolar disorder, courtesy of mommy dearest." Mickey looked at Ian for a while, not even knowing why he couldn’t look away. His hair was so red the other day in his own living room, but now in Mickey’s basement it was dull and almost looked black. He couldn’t see any of his freckles in the dim light and nothing seemed right about this. Seeing Ian cuffed to the rusted pipe was like seeing a bird with a broken wing.  
“I can get your pills if you want,” Mickey mumbled, much to Ian’s surprise. He pulled out his cigarettes and lit one up, taking a long drag before handing it to Ian who was still staring at him in shock.  
“What?” Mickey hissed.  
“Nothin’,” Ian said as a smile almost broke across his face, the cigarette resting between his lips. “Just… that’s so nice.”  
“Fuck off, I just don’t want you going postal on me.” The brunet snatched the cigarette back and stood up, pushing the bowls to the side. “Besides, I’ll only get your meds if you don’t act like an asshole again. And you can take my bed,” he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly before looking down to see Ian grinning goofily up at him. “What?!”  
“Nothin’,” the redhead said again in a singsong voice.  
“Come on, shithead.” Mickey bent down to unlock the cuff that was locked onto the pipe, giving Ian a stern look. “Don’t try anything like last time, ‘cause I will shoot you if you do.” Ian held his hands up and snickered at Mickey’s empty threat, watching as he unlocked the cuff. He helped Ian up and held his wrists firmly behind his back to be sure he wouldn’t do anything.  
As Mickey carried Ian up the stairs from the basement and the lights from the living room lit up his face, he was actually glad to see Ian’s freckles adorning the bridge of his nose and cheeks. He guided Ian through the house and sat him on the bed, ready to snap the cuff onto one of the bars of the headboard.  
“You don’t have to, Mick. I’m not gonna try anything.” Mickey wanted desperately to believe him, but after the last time he just couldn’t. He mumbled an apology and locked the cuff, noting the way Ian looked down and jutted out his jaw.  
“I wanna trust you, Ian. But you’ve gotta give me reason to.”  
“I know. I’m sorry I kicked you this morning.”   
“It’s whatever. I kind of deserved it.” Mickey shrugged and pulled out his phone, dialing his sister’s number.  
“Kind of? You took me hostage,” Ian laughed loudly and heartily, his mood vastly different from earlier. Mickey bit his lip to hide a grin and nudged Ian’s leg.  
“Hello?” Mickey’s sister’s voice caught his attention from the phone.  
“Hey Mandy, you got a minute?” Mickey was trying not to laugh as Ian nudged him back with his foot.  
“What do you want, Mick?”  
“Need you to stop by the Gallaghers’ place, pick up something.” Mickey covered the phone with his hand and leaned over to Ian. “Where do you keep your meds?” Ian’s eyes glanced down to Mickey’s lips to see the words he was mouthing, but his gaze lingered far longer than Mickey would have liked.  
“You still there, shithead?” Mandy was getting impatient and so was Mickey. Ian seemed to jolt back to reality and explained the Ziploc back he kept his pill bottles in, Mickey relaying it to Mandy and ending the call without too much profanity. At least, not too much for a Milkovich. Ian looked at Mickey with a grin and nodded.  
“Thanks.” Ian looked up at him through his eyelashes and Mickey felt his heart skip a few beats.   
“No problem. I mean, if you’re gonna be here a while you might as well be –“ Mickey’s speech was cut short when he felt Ian’s free hand grip his hair tight, pulling him in for a hard kiss. Every molecule that made up Mickey’s existence screamed at him to push Ian off and shoot him with the Colt, but the fact that he didn’t feel the weight of the gun in his back pocket somehow seemed to justify him running a hand through Ian’s hair like he had this morning and kissing him back. Mickey couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed someone without obligation. There were always girls who wanted to bang one out while kissing but Mickey was never into it. He didn’t kiss for fun or pleasure the way most people did. But right now he couldn’t be bothered to tear himself away from the redhead’s lips. He memorized the taste of Ian’s tongue pushing through his lips, Mickey inviting him in more easily than he thought he would. He felt his fingertips tracing the outline of Ian’s jaw and he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to.   
Mickey’s phone rang a little too loudly for his liking, scaring him into pulling away from the kiss. He didn’t even realize that Ian had his legs wrapped around his waist until he realized he was tangled in them, trying to pull away to pick up the phone.  
“What?!” He spat bitterly, eliciting a snicker from Ian on the bed.  
“What crawled up your ass? Just wanna know which bedroom the pills are in.” Mandy’s voice had never sounded so grating and annoying against Mickey’s ears and he wanted to smash the phone against the wall. But that wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t solve his sister’s stupid fucking question. It wouldn’t solve the erection he knew Ian was laughing at. And it wouldn’t solve the fact that he wanted to kiss the goddamned redhead that was cuffed to his bed. He dropped the call after explaining where the pills were again and shoved the phone into his pocket, shifting on his feet nervously and avoiding Ian’s gaze.  
“So, where were we?” Ian reached out with his free hand again but Mickey started walking away before he could get a hold of him.  
“Nowhere.” Mickey wanted to distance himself from Ian as much as he could. He couldn’t let himself get into this shit with him. But he could still feel that lopsided grin burning into the back of his neck even as he slammed the bathroom door behind him. He threw the still burning cigarette into the sink and stared at himself in the mirror, confused now by who he was looking at. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to end up being the one taking crazy pills because Ian Gallagher was going to drive him fucking insane.


	4. You Must Control Your Temper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian knows from experience that there are only a handful of stable people in the South Side. But when he comes back into the bedroom with fists flying, Ian doesn't expect the roller coaster that is Mickey Milkovich.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone for the positive feedback and sweet comments, you guys are great and I'm so glad some of you are enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it. Whether you like or don't like this, leave a comment to tell me what you think I'm doing right or wrong. Thanks again, everyone!

                It wasn’t until Ian heard the soft patter of raindrops on the window pane that he realized something was wrong. He couldn’t get up from the bed where he was cuffed but he could lean over far enough to see that it wasn’t rain dripping onto the windowsill. No, it was far too thick and dark to be rain.

                “Mickey?” Now Mickey was the one who wouldn’t respond, the one who wouldn’t move from his position for anything. Ian played with one of the pill bottles in his free hand. Mickey’s sister had brought it and with Mandy also came their father. He took one look at Ian who had made himself comfortable in Mickey’s bed, and he was dragging Mickey out the door. Ian wasn’t sure how long they were gone; he was mostly concerned with getting all his right doses in before he felt any worse. Even he knew he’d been acting seriously fucked up since he’d walked in on the Milkoviches trying to scare money out of Frank. A part of him scolded himself for giving Mickey a blowjob when he was supposed to just be a good little captive and wait for Frank (or most likely, Fiona and Lip) to pay the ransom and take him home. But he’d made things complicated, and for what? To mess with his captor’s head? To satisfy his own sexual desires, which had been severely lacking lately? And why? Just because he didn’t take his meds for two days? He’d gone longer than two days without them before and he never acted this erratic. Not as erratic as to grab his kidnapper’s hair and shove his tongue down his fucking throat.

                And that’s where the other part of him came in. Part of him wanted Mickey, the same part of him that intended to get the brunet to admit, not to mention accept, that he was gay. Ian had just been messing around and acting like an asshole when he’d started licking and sucking on the gun. He never thought Mickey would suddenly drop trou and moan out Ian’s name. This same part of him wanted to help Mickey accept who he was, and be the one to get him through it. The other part of him wanted to beat the shit out of Mickey for kidnapping him in the first place. Another part of him wanted to just kiss Mickey for giving him a place on his bed and getting his meds. But all of him knew that there was no point in romanticizing the young Milkovich’s “good deeds.” He may have been in the closet, but something told Ian that wouldn’t stop Mickey from shooting him if he kept overstepping the boundaries.

                Whatever those boundaries were, however, Ian couldn’t say anymore.

                Ian had been having this debate in his mind for several minutes before he felt the gun being bashed into his temple. He wasn’t knocked unconscious like the last time, but he almost bit his tongue off trying not to show any pain. He turned his head to shoot Mickey a dirty look, but he couldn’t manage it when he saw the brunet’s face. He had more than his share of bruises and cuts, and there was one particularly deep gash that had blood running down his left temple and cheek, sure to stain the sheets where the blood drops spattered about. He was holding the gun shakily to Ian’s face and for the first time Ian was terrified.

                “Mickey, what are you—“

                “This is all your fucking fault.” Mickey hissed, pressing the gun into the redhead’s cheek. “If you didn’t need those pills, if you didn't to be so fucking _comfortable_ …”

                “ _You_ brought _me_ up here, I didn’t ask to—“

                “Shut the fuck up!” Mickey reared back and smashed the stock of the Colt into Ian’s cheek, and Ian thought he could feel the lanyard ring dig into his cheekbone. Mickey dropped the gun and crawled onto the bed, grabbing Ian by the hair and landing blow after blow into the redhead’s face and stomach. Ian squirmed and writhed under him until he managed to push him off with his free hand, Mickey landing on the floor beside the bed.

                “You wanna beat on someone? Fine. Beat on the one who fucking deserves it, not me!” Ian spat on Mickey and watched him sit up slowly, not moving otherwise. Ian’s face felt warm and sticky and he knew he must have been bleeding as much as Mickey was. Neither deserved what they got, but they knew they’d continue to get it anyway. Finally, Mickey met Ian’s eyes. They didn’t speak for a while, just panted as the adrenaline passed and watched each other. Eventually, Mickey got up and handed Ian a rag to clean his face with.

                “I should just fucking shoot you, man…” Mickey mumbled half-heartedly. He picked up the gun and put it in a drawer, pulling himself up to sit on top of his desk.

                “You can’t,” Ian said through soft pants. “You’d miss me too much.” The boys locked eyes again and Ian couldn’t help the fluttering in his stomach he felt when he saw that Mickey was laughing. He started laughing too, and as they both heard footsteps outside the door they shushed each other hurriedly. When they were satisfied that the pair of footsteps had walked out of range from the bedroom again, they broke out into sputtering snickers, covering their mouths to keep from being heard. After the adrenaline-induced laughter subsided, Mickey grabbed an old black t-shirt to wipe the blood off his face. After a long silence that Ian desperately wanted to break, Mickey looked up at him with a somber expression.

                “I wish I _could_ shoot you. Everything would be so much easier.” Ian knitted his eyebrows together as if he were confused, but he knew exactly what Mickey was getting at. He didn’t mean the ransom; he didn’t mean that Ian was more trouble than he was worth. He meant exactly what they both feared he meant. There were parts of Mickey, just like there were parts of Ian. And like the part of Ian that wanted Mickey, there was a part of Mickey that wanted Ian. And like the part of Ian that wanted to beat the shit out of Mickey, part of Mickey wanted to shoot Ian. Ian wasn’t sure which part of Mickey would win out, but he could see that one thing was true.

                There’s something there that wasn’t there before.


	5. I Want To Do Something For Him... But What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey knew from the beginning that Frank wouldn't pay his debt, even as Ian's ransom. But he didn't think the kid would be this much trouble, especially now with Mandy's suspicious attitude.

                It took Mickey a while to finally make it to bed. He’d spent well over twenty minutes pacing between the basement and his bedroom door. He could either sleep on the old mattress down in the basement, or somehow grow the balls to get in his own bed with Ian and risk his father seeing them sleeping together. His face had been bloodied up enough, he didn’t need a matching bullet wound. But in the end he decided he deserved to sleep in his own bed after all the shit that had happened to him today. He didn’t even care if Ian were to strangle him in his sleep and get away; he just wanted the day to be over already. He made his way back to his bedroom after midnight to find the red-haired hostage lying awake on the left side of his bed, watching the clock intently. Mickey stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed carefully so as not to disturb Ian. Still, he heard the boy stir beside him.

                “Mickey?”

                “What?” Mickey groaned, keeping his back to Ian even as he heard him roll over toward him.

                “How much does Frank owe you?”

                “Collectively, about ten grand.”

                “Shit…” He could almost feel Ian deflate into the pillow behind him, so he finally rolled over to face him.

                “Why?”

                “Lip and Fiona aren’t gonna be able to get that kind of money.”

                “So?” Mickey asked, somewhat annoyed. “It’s Frank’s debt, not theirs.”

                “Be real here for a second. Frank doesn’t have any money, and even if he did he wouldn’t pay you back. I’m not even really his son, so why should he care?” Ian gave a wry laugh and sighed, scooting closer to Mickey. “Frank’s time is gonna be up in six days and you’re gonna shoot me.” Mickey rolled over stayed silent. He didn’t know what was going to happen in six days. Hell, he didn’t even know what was going to happen tonight. He was confused enough, and the warmth that radiated from Ian against his back sure wasn’t helping.

                “Mickey?”

                “God, what?!”

                Ian was quiet for a while before he rested his forehead against the back of Mickey’s head, his soft breaths tickling the nape of the brunet’s neck. “Nothin’. Good night, Mick.” Mickey didn’t push Ian away. He told himself he was far too tired for that. It wasn’t long before the redhead’s breathing had evened out to a slow and steady rhythm. Mickey couldn’t help but wonder what had been going through Ian’s head during the past day. He looked terrified when Mickey started beating on him and he hated that he couldn’t get that deer-in-the-headlights look Ian got when he held the gun up to his face out of his head. It was different than before. Just earlier that day, Ian had been practically giving a blowjob to the Colt but that was when he was off his meds. Mickey could see he was more clear-headed now. More stable. But Mickey still felt wrong. He still didn’t understand what he wanted from Ian or what Ian wanted from him. He figured he’d think about that tomorrow after he’d gotten some sleep. Or he could think about it never and start treating Ian like the hostage he’s supposed to be.

                When Mickey woke up the next morning, he felt Ian’s chest pressed to his back and his free arm draped over his waist. He couldn’t bring himself to push Ian away just yet. He wanted to enjoy the warmth while he could. He’d never done this before, never shared his bed with anyone.  He wanted to lace his fingers with Ian’s and pull him even closer, tucking the blankets around them and staying in bed all day. Instead, he moved Ian’s arm off him slowly without waking him and sat up on the bed. They’d been lucky that Terry hadn’t decided to come into the room yet or they’d both be dead. Mickey heard clanging dishes in the kitchen so he got up to go see what was going on.

                “The fuck you makin’ all that noise for?” Mickey grumbled, rubbing his eyes as Mandy shot him the finger.

                “I was making breakfast.”

                “Great, what’re you making—“

                “I’m not cooking for your ungrateful ass.” Mandy pretended to throw a piece of bacon at him before shoving it in her mouth. “It’s for the kid.”

                “Ian’s still sleepin’. Why can’t I have any?”

                “Because you’re a stupid piece of shit.”

                “What did I do now?” Mickey half-glared at her as he headed to the fridge to grab the jug of orange juice, taking a long swig and putting it back much to Mandy's disgust.

                “You fallin’ for that kid?” Mandy crossed her arms over her chest. Her question was simple enough and even as Mickey opened his mouth to deny it as vehemently as possible, he found he didn’t have an answer. He decided to stick with denial.

                “I’m not a fag,” he hissed, his eyes narrowed to slits.

                “Didn’t say you were. But you and the kid looked pretty cozy. What, are you bi or something?”

                “Mandy shut the fuck up, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

                “What if dad went in your room before he left? You know you’d be in a ditch somewhere right now.” Mandy smacked Mickey’s hand away from the plate of bacon and he groaned in defeat.

                “Whatever. I got shit to do today. Can you watch him?”

                “Sure. Got nothing better to do anyway. Here,” Mandy handed Mickey a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast. “Bring him this before you go. And stop being a pussy.” Mickey took the plate and shoved his sister as he headed back into the bedroom. Ian was lying still under the covers and the room was too dim to see his face, so Mickey set Ian’s breakfast on the bedside table and opened the blinds, letting the morning sun show through. He heard an annoyed moan coming from the bed and Mickey snickered a bit.

                “Rise and fuckin’ shine, Cinderella. My sister made you breakfast.” Mickey heard faint mumbling behind him so he turned and cocked his head at Ian.

                “What’s that?”

                “Not Cinderella… Belle…”

                “Belle? I guess this is when I pretend I know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

                “Jesus Christ,” Ian sits up a little and glances over at the plate of food. “Haven’t you ever seen Beauty and the Beast?”

                “You callin’ yourself a beauty?” Mickey raised his eyebrows in amusement.

                “Nah, I’m calling you a beast.” He winked teasingly and started shoveling eggs into his mouth. Mickey tried to swallow the lump that was in his throat but to no avail.

                “Alright then, _Belle_. I gotta go run some errands today, so Mandy’s gonna watch you. Don’t try to fight your way out or anything or you’re dead meat,” Mickey warned.

                “Why would I try to fight that poor girl? She'll break a nail and you'll pistol whip me again for it."

                “Poor girl? Dude, she’ll fucking _kill_ your scrawny ass. I’m saying this for your own good; don’t fuck with her.” Mickey shot Ian a sincere glance as he pulled on some clothes, watching a grin break across his face.

                “I’ll keep that in mind.”

                “See you later then. Don’t make friends with the furniture while I’m gone, Belle.” Mickey looked back at Ian just in time to see him flip him off, his cheeks puffed and full of toast. He laughed to himself and headed out of the house.

                The crisp Chicago air felt nice against Mickey’s back. He’d been able to relax as he walked down the street, though he still couldn’t shake the thoughts of the Gallagher kid lying in his bed back home. It was unnerving that Ian was so calm about the idea that his ransom wouldn’t be paid. But if anything, Mickey was intent on making sure Ian didn’t get killed just because Frank was an asshole. He’d checked his phone several times already, waiting for a reply to the text he’d sent almost an hour ago. He stopped in front of the Gallagher house and watched for a while, wondering if his siblings knew yet about their brother. He wondered if Frank was there, sitting on his ass and not worrying about his kid locked up in the Milkovich house. He found himself halfway up the front porch when his phone beeped with a text notification.

                _Meet me at the Alibi in 10 minutes._

                Mickey hurriedly walked away from the Gallaghers’ porch and started for the Alibi Room. He couldn’t help but remember what Ian had said about the Beauty and the Beast. Mickey could readily admit to himself that he felt something for Ian. He just couldn’t place what that feeling was. Maybe it was lust. Maybe it was love. He couldn’t decide on a title, nor could he delude himself into thinking Ian could feel anything for him in return.

                After all, who could ever learn to love a beast?


	6. I'm Afraid I've Been Thinking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mandy watches over Ian while Mickey's gone, and the two plot a game that could potentially backfire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fairly short chapter, I know. But don't worry, tomorrow's chapter will be much better and longer and the story's going to start really taking off. Thank you guys for your nice feedback and continued interest in this, it means a lot :)

     Ian waited until he heard Mickey leave and he laid his head back against the bedpost. He wondered what the brunet must have thought when he woke up with Ian’s arm hanging over his waist. He was willing to admit that he woke up at some point of the night and held Mickey close on purpose. More as an experiment than anything else; to see what reaction would occur. The way he figured it Mickey either could have pushed Ian off and insulted him, accepted it and maybe even enjoyed it, or he could have just rolled over and shot him. Ian woke to find himself alone in Mickey’s bed. No fag-bashing, no gun pointed in his face. Just Mickey standing by the window and opening the blinds. That had been a start, at least. After he’d finished his breakfast, he had a hard time thinking of something to do. After all, there isn’t much one can do when the only thing within their reach is a pack of cigarettes. He managed to lean over to the bedside table and slip a cigarette out of the pack, hoping Mickey wouldn’t mind. There was no lighter nearby, so he just relaxed back against the bed and sighed with the unlit cigarette between his lips. He closed his eyes as he chewed lightly on the filter.

     “Need a light?” Ian opened his eyes and recognized Mandy, Mickey’s sister, standing in the doorway. He’d met her briefly the night before when she brought him his medication but as he looked at her now he realized just how much she and Mick looked alike. Ian nodded slowly and watched as she pulled a lighter out of one of Mickey’s drawers and sat across from him on the bed, her clear blue eyes focusing in on him. She reached out and lit the end of the cigarette and Ian smiled as he took a long drag, letting the cigarette stay secure between his lips.

     “Thanks,” he said and watched the smoke coil around his face. Mandy shook her head.

     “No problem. You didn’t do anything wrong, no reason why you should be treated like prisoner.” Mandy reached for the cigarette and inhaled deeply, blowing the smoke out at Ian. She’d been watching him since she came in with this look that Ian couldn’t place; like she was sizing him up. It reminded him of the way he’d looked at Debbie’s first boyfriend, the gaze of complete and total familial judgment. Finally she handed back the cigarette and raised an eyebrow at him.

     “So are you really his hostage?” She asked, expressionless. “Or are you like his secret boytoy or something?”

     Ian almost choked on smoke as he inhaled from the cigarette, sputtering and coughing as he stared at her. “Secret boytoy? Hardly.”

     “You guys seem to like each other though.” Mandy shrugged. She waited until his breathing had returned t normal before she spoke again. “Do you love him?”

     “I’ve only known him for about a day.” Ian stared at her incredulously and laughed.

     “That doesn’t answer my question,” Mandy moved to lie on her stomach, looking up at Ian intensely. “Do you love Mickey?”

     “I, uh…” Ian thinks for a bit, keeping the cigarette between his lips and averting Mandy’s eyes. Ian glanced at her and got caught in her gaze, forced to lock eyes with her. “I like how he smells,” he finally said lamely. Mandy snickered as she shook her head, stealing the cigarette back from him and smoking the last bit down to the filter.

     “You know Mick’s not gonna just up and become your boyfriend, right? I mean really, look at the kind of guy our dad is,” she laughed wryly and sat up.

     “I never said I wanted him to be my boyfriend.”

     “You didn’t have to say it.” She patted his shoulder pitifully and Ian realized he hadn’t exactly been subtle about whatever strange feelings he had for Mickey. He wanted to believe it was just Stockholm Syndrome and it wasn’t real. He was just Belle waiting for his Prince Charming and instead getting a Beast. At least Prince Adam didn’t carry a Colt around and have a homophobic father. But he was scared that it might be real. Scared and excited and curious. He wanted to stop thinking about Mickey but he also wanted to never stop thinking of him. Every thought was like russian roulette; it's all just a matter of what next thought would be the bullet that penetrates his head with these ideas of love.

     “Hey,” Mandy whispered, catching Ian’s attention back. “You wanna make him jealous?” It didn’t take Ian long to decide the answer to that. I mean, using envy tactics to gauge whether Mickey actually had any interest in him?

      … How could he resist?


	7. He's Never Looked At Me That Way Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey comes home from his meeting at the Alibi to find his sister and Ian getting a bit too cozy for his comfort, and anger and jealousy send him past the point of no return.

                The whole way home from The Alibi Room, Mickey had a bit of spring in his step that couldn’t be ignored. Usually when a Milkovich had a cheery look like his, you should start running and using an alias. But how couldn’t he be happy what with the fat envelope of cash in his jacket pocket? The five grand neatly tucked into the envelope weighed heavily on his left shoulder like both a trophy and a dead body; _his_ dead body to be precise if he didn’t make sure that no one saw this cash until the right time. His happy mood was thoroughly destroyed when he came home.

                He set his keys and the take-out he’d gotten from Tommy’s Place on the counter just as the house was suddenly filled to the brim with boisterous laughter and flirtatious giggles. Mickey marched over to his bedroom where he found Ian and Mandy on his bed. With Mandy’s legs laid across Ian’s lap and the redhead’s free hand inching up her thigh, they were a little too cozy for Mick’s liking.

                “Hey,” he managed to croak out, narrowing his eyes to snake-like slits. “What are you doing?”

                “Talking,” Mandy said dismissively.

                “Talking?”

                “Yeah.” Ian didn’t even look at Mickey as he spoke, just teased his fingertips along the hem of Mandy’s skirt. “Talking.”

                “Can’t you go somewhere else, Mick?”

                “It’s my fuckin’ room!” Mickey glared at his sister incredulously.

                “Well we’re _busy_ ,” she hissed through her teeth.

                “Fine. Laugh up a goddamned shitstorm, see if I care.” Mickey slammed the door shut and headed back to the kitchen to eat his food. He shoved the hot dog he’d gotten for Ian in the fridge and sat at the table. His teeth tore into his own hot dog violently. He felt a terrible wrenching in his gut and all he wanted to do was rip out his stomach and his heart and his brain, be an empty shell like his father. Then again, the thought of being anything like Terry Milkovich was just as sickening as the slutty giggling that seemed to be getting louder every second. The sound grated on his ears like a disturbing clown laugh in a carnival ride and his anger was only rising as bile in his throat. All he wanted was for the fucking laughter to stop. That is, until it did stop. The way Mickey saw it was if they were laughing, then their mouths were too busy to be kissing. The laughter had now ceased and a veil of heavy silence filled the house and seemed to emanate from his bedroom. This unnerving silence had Mickey bolting out of his seat faster than a bullet. He barged into his bedroom to find Ian and Mandy jumping away from each other after almost kissing. Their lips had only been a few centimeters away, and now Mickey was going to make sure they stayed _miles_ away.

                “Time’s up lovebirds, get up.” Mickey’s body was in motion before his mind could rationalize. He gritted his teeth and grabbed Mandy’s arm to drag her off the bed.

                “What the fuck, Mick?!” She protested but to no avail as Mickey snarled and pushed her out the door. He slammed it in her face and locked it. He paced around for a bit before he heard his sister’s footsteps heading away and out the front door. Fists clenched so tight that his knuckles had blanched, he was having a hard time not punching a hole in the door.

                “What is your problem?” Ian asked, his tone sounding a little smug.

                “She’s my fucking sister!” Mickey felt himself overreacting, watched himself screaming, but he couldn’t stop himself.

                “What?” Ian leaned toward Mickey and cocked his head a bit with a high and mighty smirk plastered on his face. “Are you jealous?”

                “Fuck you.” Mickey made a weak attempt at the classic Milkovich dismissal, but it sounded weary and broken.

                “Fine. Oh, and don’t worry. I’ll wait until _after_ the ransom’s paid so I can fuck her in her own bed instead of yours.” Ian barely finished his sentence before Mickey was on him. He straddled the redhead’s lap and smacked him hard across the cheek.

                “Just admit it Mick. You don’t want me to fuck Mandy because you want me to fuck _you._ ”

                “Shut the fuck up,” Mickey growled and hit Ian again, but it seemed his anger only encouraged Ian.

                “What, you think you can’t say it to me? No one’s here but us, just fucking say it.”

                “I swear to God I’m gonna—“

                “Shoot me?” Ian scoffed, “Yeah, I know. The whole ‘I’m gonna shoot you’ thing got tired a long time ago. Stop hiding behind the fucking Colt. Stop hiding!” Ian was yelling in Mick’s face. Mickey felt like he couldn’t breathe properly; his stomach was fluttering with anger, jealousy, and lust. He wanted to say something, _anything,_ but all he could manage were quiet pants and glares. At last, he decided that sometimes actions really do speak louder than words. At the same moment that he tangled his fingers in Ian’s hair, he felt the redhead’s free hand snake around his waist and grip tightly at his shirt. Their lips fit together perfectly like grinding gears, their kiss soft and violent; restrained and rough; sweet and animalistic. Teeth met teeth as tongue met tongue, and Mickey felt heat rising through his body to mirror the heat that Ian gave off. Ian held onto Mickey’s waist and rolled them over so that he was on top, Mickey desperately grabbing at Ian’s hair and shirt beneath him. Ian pulled away from the kiss to try to pull his shirt off, but it got caught on the handcuff on his wrist and fell awkwardly against the headboard of the bed. Mickey started laughing as Ian one-handedly undid the buttons of his jeans and tried to kick them and his boxers off.

                “Shut up, it’s your fault I’m cuffed.” Ian grinned and pulled insistently at the hem of Mickey’s shirt. “Now why the fuck are you still wearing clothes?” Mickey sat up and got undressed, tossing his jacket to the floor along with the rest of his clothes. Ian had Mickey lying on his back once again the second his boxers hit the floor, attacking the brunet’s exposed neck and collarbones with lips and teeth. Mickey reached over the drawer and pulled out a condom and a bottle of lube. Ian snickered and ripped the condom open with his teeth, Mickey watching as he rolled it down his cock.

                “You always this prepared?”

                “Only when I got a hot redhead handcuffed to my bed,” Mickey laughed.

                “Well next time,” Ian got a generous amount of lube on two fingers and slowly pushed them into Mickey, being rewarded with a restrained groan from the brunet, “you’re going to be the one handcuffed to _my_ bed.” Even though Ian was leaning awkwardly against the headboard of the bed, Mickey had never seen a sight hotter than the gorgeous guy above him, naked and highlighted in all the right places by the sun streaming in through the blinds that were moving because of the fan in the corner of the room.

                “Better hope your ransom gets paid then, huh?” Mickey bit his lip with a smirk and started pushing Ian’s hand away. “Okay stop, fuck.”

                “Someone’s eager,” Ian teased as he pulled his hand away and moved to get between Mickey’s legs.

                “Yeah well, if you’re as good with your cock as you are with your mouth, then I have a right to be eager.” Mickey arched his back and let out a pleasured moan as he felt Ian push inside him slowly.

                “Oh, fuck,” he heard Ian choke out above him. Mickey wrapped his legs around Ian’s waist and shut his eyes. He felt the redhead lean down and rest his forehead against his as he stopped for a second to let Mickey adjust.

                “Don’t stop,” Mickey mumbled, usually embarrassed to say anything like that. He thought it made him sound like a whore in a cheap porno, but right now he didn’t care. He needed Ian to move. Ian grabbed the post that his hand was cuffed to so he could support himself as he started to thrust into Mickey with a slow, deep rhythm. Mickey’s been fucked before, but never like this. Never slow and deliberate, never with anyone who wanted him to be as pleasured as they were. Mickey opened his eyes and found Ian looking right back at him with the same expression he imagined he wore, and he found he couldn’t shut his eyes again. He didn’t want to. Seeing the way Ian looked at him was like reaching nirvana. Ian cupped Mickey’s face and watched to see what he liked and how he liked it, running his thumb across the brunet’s bottom lip. This was real.

                Mickey guessed this was why people called it making love and not fucking. It felt like love in an actual physical state. He felt Ian’s hand roam from his face down his chest and to his cock, jerking him off in rhythm with his thrusts which had started to speed up and roughen to his liking. Mickey gripped tightly at Ian’s hair and rolled his hips against Ian to create more friction, and he’d be damned if he was going to come first. He writhed and groaned beneath Ian, tugging at his hair. He was glad nobody was home or else they’d have heard the bed frame slamming against the wall. Their pants and moans began to run together and Mickey only lasted as long as Ian did, the two hitting their climax almost simultaneously. Mickey clung on to Ian as he collapsed on top of him. Mickey stayed lying back on the bed, a mess of come and sweat, as Ian sat up and reached over for a shirt to clean up their mess with. He tied and tossed the condom in the trash in the corner of Mickey’s room and fell onto his back beside Mickey.

                All was quiet now, and Mickey lied there having no idea what to do. He looked at Ian from the corner of his eye. The sun was still perfectly shading and highlighting his body through the blinds. Mickey didn’t know what to do. He wanted to roll over and tuck his face into the crook of the redhead’s neck, but that wasn’t in his nature. He wanted to roll over and kiss along Ian’s chest and tell him he loved him, but that wasn’t in his nature either. Instead, he lied there having a mini panic attack about what to say or do. He wondered whether he should just get dressed and leave when Ian finally broke the silence, much to his relief and dismay.

                “What’s that?” Ian nodded towards Mickey’s jacket where the envelope of cash was peeking out of the inner pocket. Mickey knew he should have gotten up and put it away right then, but he was too tired. His legs and abdomen felt like jelly.

                “A letter.”

                “Liar,” Ian scoffed and leaned over the edge of the bed to pick it up. Mickey tried to reach for it but Ian slapped his hand away and opened it. His eyes widened and he counted through the money quickly.

                “That’s a lotta cash, Mick. You always keep five g’s on you?” Ian tucked the envelope closed again and set it on Mickey’s bedside table.

                “No… Just picked it up today.” Mickey chewed on his bottom lip and sat up to grab his boxers and pull them on.

                “Did someone owe you or something?”

                “I guess you could say that.”

                “What’cha need it for?” Ian was just being curious, but his questions made Mickey’s neck itch with bashfulness.

                “To pay off a debt.” He pulled on a clean T-shirt from the drawer and tossed one to Ian as well as boxers. “Here, I’ll uncuff you and you can take a shower, you’re starting to smell. I got you a dog from Tommy's Place, you can eat it afterwards.” Mickey tried to change the subject a bit too obviously, and Ian picked up on it with ease. It seemed Ian was already skilled at telling when he was lying.

                “Since when do the Milkoviches owe anyone?” Mickey unlocked Ian’s handcuff slowly, just in case he was planning another assault like the other day, and tried to look as far down as he could to hide the flush of his cheeks.

                “It’s not my debt,” he mumbled.

                “… I don’t get it…” Ian said slowly, though Mickey could see by the look on his face that he understood perfectly. He just wanted Mickey to say it.

                “You think I wanna have to shoot you when Frank doesn’t pay his shit?” Mickey tossed the handcuffs into his drawer with his stolen police badge and scratched his neck nervously. “I’m gonna be the one that has to clean up the blood, dump the body…” He shrugged lamely.

                “Are you paying Frank’s debt, Mickey?” Mickey could almost hear the lopsidedness of Ian’s grin in his tone.

                “Fuck off.” He motioned for Ian to follow him to the bathroom. He still felt that grin burning into the back of his head, just like when Ian had kissed him the other day. But this time, Mickey couldn’t stop the smile that was spreading across his own face.


	8. It's A Pity And A Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian just wants Mickey to be who he really is, but Mickey feels it's impossible. It's only when he finally lets himself go that everything falls apart.

                “So,” Ian prompted as Mickey warmed up his food, “what’s your dad gonna say when he sees me just walking around like this? I mean, last time…” He winced at the cuts and bruises that still adorned Mickey’s face, knowing they were his fault.

                “He’s not coming home ‘til tomorrow morning. And Mandy doesn’t really care I guess.” The microwave beeped and Mickey pulled out the plate. He set it down in front of Ian and sat across from him. Mickey took a long swig of beer before casting down his gaze. “Did you really want her?” He hoped he sounded casual, but lately he hasn’t been good at disguising himself.

                “I’m gay, Mickey. Obviously I don’t want her.” Ian rolled his eyes and took a mouthful of the hot dog. “I just wanted to see if I could make you jealous. Clearly it worked.”

                Mickey half-glared at him and kicked his foot under the table. “Close your fuckin’ mouth when you’re eating.”

                “Are you always gonna be this grumpy after we fuck?”

                “Only if you keep talking with your mouth full.”

                “God, you’re like a woman,” Ian laughed and snatched Mickey’s beer from his hand. He swallowed his food and washed it down with the beer before handing it back.

                “So how’s this gonna work?”

                “How’s what gonna work?” Mickey played dumb and sipped at his beer, though he knew what Ian meant. He just didn’t want to talk about it.

                “Us.”

                “Us?” The brunet scoffed forcibly. “There is no ‘us’.”

                “I’m sure the stains on your sheets prove otherwise.”

                “There’s ‘me’ and there’s ‘you’. If sometimes ‘you’ wanna fuck ‘me’, that doesn’t add up to an ‘us’.” Ian glared at Mick and picked up his plate to go sit and eat by the TV. Mickey rolled his eyes and followed him.

                “What?”

                “Nothing.” Ian’s deadpan tone as he stared at the TV stung him a bit.

                “Why the fuck are you acting like I put a damn ring your hand? We fucked. That’s it.”

                “I can’t believe what a pussy you are, Mick.” Mickey clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes.

                “Say that again, I’ll kick your fuckin’ ass.”

                “Of course, yeah. Keep hiding. Hide behind your gun, hide behind your fists, do whatever you need to do to stay as deep in the closet as you can.” Ian finished off his hot dog and set the plate down on the coffee table with a nonchalant expression.

                “Fuck you. You don’t understand—“

                “Oh, I understand.” Ian stood up slowly and got in Mickey’s face. “You’re afraid of me, afraid of your _father._ You’re afraid to be,” Ian shoved Mickey into the wall, “who you are.” Mickey stood in silence as the redhead stormed past him and slammed the bedroom door shut. He thought he was actually going to throw up. It terrified him to know how easily Ian saw through him. A part of Mickey knew that if he knew his father would never come home, this whole fight would never have happened because the second Ian had asked how this was going to work he would have said “I’m yours.” But his father was coming back, and soon. He wanted to take a walk, but seeing as how Ian was both pissed off and uncuffed, he didn’t want him leaving. He decided to stay and watch TV for a while, though he couldn’t focus on any of the shows. He had the TV on mute to see if he could hear anything from his room. He could hear drawers opening and closing, so Ian must have been going through his stuff. He didn’t particularly care. He just wanted him to stop being angry with him. But he’d be damned if he was going to be the first one to apologize and make up.

                Night came and Ian still hadn’t left Mickey’s room. Mickey tried watching TV and playing video games and even reading but he couldn’t stop feeling sick and jittery. By 9:00, he decided to go to bed early for the first time ever. And of course his sudden desire for a good night’s sleep had _nothing_ to do with wanting to go be with Ian. He walked slowly towards his bedroom, the only sound in the house being his bare feet tapping and sticking to the linoleum flooring. When he opened the door, he found that Ian was already in bed. Mickey pulled off his shirt and slid under the blanket, hoping that Ian was asleep. Silence and stillness were driving him crazy, and he finally decided to speak.

                “Ian?” No sound but his own voice, and Ian remained unmoved. “You up?”

                There was a long silence, but then he heard Ian’s meek whisper, “Yes.”

                “You still pissed at me?”

                “Yes,” he hissed half-heartedly. Mickey sighed and curled up into a ball, clutching the blankets tightly between his fingers. He wanted to say he was sorry, but he just couldn’t. But he had to say _something,_ or else Ian would just stay mad at him.

                “Just… Give me time.” All was still and quiet, and Mickey was about to give up and go to sleep when he felt Ian roll over and press a kiss to the top of his spine.

                “You’ve got a week, Milkovich,” Ian mimicked the way Mickey had spoken when he told Frank he had a week to get the money, and he couldn’t help but smile. His formerly tensed body seemed to sink into the mattress as he relaxed. Mickey closed his eyes to start to go to sleep, but after a few minutes the bed was shaking just slightly. He opened his eyes and sighed.

                “You better not be jacking off in my bed,” he threatened.

                “We fucked here earlier, why is it suddenly off-limits?” Ian let out a quiet groan behind him that sent a shiver up Mickey’s spine.

                “’Cause you’ll stain my sheets even more, asshole. Besides, I’m lying right fucking here.”

                “Care to help then?” Mickey sensed the smirk in Ian’s voice and rolled over to look at him. Ian was sitting up a bit against the headboard, fully undressed with the blanket just barely covering his hipbones and his hand under the blanket. Mickey thought of telling him to go fuck himself, but the sight of the redhead in his bed had him licking his lips. He moved the blankets away from both of them and moved so he was in between Ian’s legs.

                “This is a onetime thing, since I was such an asshole earlier,” Mickey kissed lightly along Ian’s thigh before he slapped his hand away from his cock, replacing Ian’s hand with his mouth. Ian’s eyes fluttered shut and he let out a soft moan, running his hand through Mickey’s hair. Mickey sucked on the head, teasing his tongue around the tip, and smirked slightly as he looked up to watch and listen to Ian’s reactions.

                “This needs to be an everyday thing,” Ian breathed between moans as Mickey took him deeper. Mickey had never done this, but he was starting to like it. He started sucking him faster and Ian gripped his hair tight and started thrusting up into his mouth. Mickey was starting to _love_ it; just watching Ian lose his mind as he fucked Mickey’s mouth was making him practically leak, so he reached into his boxers and started jerking himself off. Everything was perfect, and Mickey could tell that Ian was already close to orgasm by the way the rhythm of his thrusts had turned uneven and desperate. Mickey moaned and gagged around him and just as Ian let out a loud groan and came into his mouth, the room was flooded by bright light from the hallway. Mickey pulled away too fast from Ian in a panic and ended up with a line of the redhead’s come on his cheek.

                It seemed the whole world froze in place as the boys stared up in terror at Terry Milkovich standing in the doorway.


	9. Everyone Knows His Father's A Lunatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The jig is up but Ian and Mickey find sanctuary in the Jackson home. With Fiona, Sheila, and Lip's help, they'll be safe. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe so many of you like this story. I originally planned for it to be a oneshot but it kept expanding and you guys supported me and just wow thank you! I know I already posted a chapter today but eh, it's 2:30 AM and I can't sleep, so naturally I started writing again. I hope you guys continue to enjoy this story :)

                There’s nothing quite like pure terror to turn a couple of young boys into Olympic runners. Terry stood in the doorway like a bull still deciding whether or not to charge, ready to gore anyone in his way. By the time he’d started after them, Ian had rolled off the bed and pulled on his boxers. Mickey grabbed the envelope with the cash from his nightstand and they waited until Terry tried to cross over the bed to get to them before they dodged him and ran around the bed. Ian snatched his bag of meds as well as Mickey’s gun from his drawer, tossing it to the brunet as they ran out the front door of the house. They didn’t know where they were going, only that Terry Milkovich wasn’t far behind. Ian grabbed Mickey’s hand and pulled him to veer off towards the El where they could try to run in the shadows under the rail. However it isn’t hard to spot two pale boys, one with orange hair, running for their life nearly nude. They’re just lucky it was Lip who spotted them first.

                “Ian?!” Lip stared at them as they ran past, his eyes going wide when he saw that a clearly pissed off Terry was doing his best to keep up with them. He drank the last bit of his beer and took off to run alongside them.

                “What the fuck is going on? Where’ve you been?” He panted and slapped Ian’s arm, who laughed wryly and shook his head.

                “Of course Frank didn’t tell you. Tell ya later,” Ian was starting to get tired and chanced a look behind him to see how far away Mick’s dad was. Which wasn't very far at all.

                “Alright, head to Karen’s. I’ll distract him.” Ian was just wondering how Lip was going to distract him when he smashed the end of his beer bottle against the column of the El and slowed to a stop. Ian looked back to see Lip and Terry having a stand-off, both completely still and glaring at each other waiting for someone to make a move.

                “You just _had_ to start jackin’ off in my bed, didn’t you?” Mickey smacked the back of Ian’s head, eliciting a laugh from the redhead.

                “I didn’t know he’d come back early, now did I?” Ian smacked Mickey back and swore that he saw a smile at Mickey’s lips, the same kind of smile that Ian got when he was running off pure adrenaline. Once they finally got to Karen’s house, they frantically knocked at the back door until Karen’s mother, Sheila, opened it meekly and they pushed their way inside. She stammered and her eyes grew twice their normal size.

                “No, y-you have to take your shoes off!”

                “No shoes, no time,” Ian shut the door and locked it again, running to the stairs and collapsing with Mickey on the bottom step. Mickey had his head in his hands and was shaking violently as the adrenaline flooded out of his system. It seemed he was just starting to realize the severity of the situation. The boys sat in silence, the house filled with their shaky pants and groans until Sheila peeked around the corner.

                “Would you boys like something? Water, tea—“

                “Something harder,” Mickey croaked out, finally catching his breath. “I don’t wanna remember tonight.” Sheila raised her eyebrows but didn’t protest. She disappeared back into the kitchen and Ian wondered if Lip was okay. Maybe if they were lucky, he killed Terry.

                “Sheila! Can I use your phone?” The request seemed oddly polite after he’d just barged into her home, but Sheila came back with two drinking glasses full of what Ian could only assume was vodka and orange juice and handed Ian the phone. Ian set his glass on the step beside him as dialed his home number, watching Mickey chug his drink out of the corner of his eye.

                “Hello?”

                “Fiona! I need your help.”

                “Ian?!” She shouted into the phone the same way Lip had when he saw him and her “concerned mother” personality took over. “Where are you? Where the fuck have you been?”

                “No time right now, I’m at Sheila’s. Look, if Terry Milkovich comes looking for us, tell him we grabbed a bunch of stuff and skipped town, okay?”

                “Us? What’d you do to Terry? I’m coming over.” Ian could already hear Fiona grabbing her house keys.

                “No! Fiona just stay there until tomorrow, please? Terry’s gonna come and I _need_ you to tell him we packed and ran, okay?” Fiona was quiet for a moment and Ian could practically feel her glare through the receiver.

                “Fine. But first thing tomorrow, you better give me an explanation.”

                “Thanks, you’re the best. And bring us clothes!” Ian hung up and set the phone down beside him, staring at his glass. _Fuck it,_ he decided and picked up the glass, drinking almost half of it in one shot. He looked over to find Mickey had already finished his and was turning the empty glass over in his hands nervously. Ian took the glass out of his hand and set it down on the floor. He laced his fingers with Mickey’s and laid his head on the brunet’s shoulder.

                “You couldn’t just shut up and be a good fucking hostage…” Mickey pinched the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb and closed his eyes, but he didn’t let go of Ian’s hand. Ian sipped silently at his drink until he was done and set the glass down next to Mickey’s.

                “Let’s face it, Mick,” Ian sighed and slid his arm around Mickey’s shoulder. “I’m worth it.”

                “You fucking better hope you’re worth it, Firecrotch.” Mickey pulled the gun out of the waist band of his boxers and put it down on the step next to him, keeping his free hand on it just in case. “Because I don’t wanna die for nothing.”

                “You won’t die. I promise.” Mickey let out a shaky breath and rested his head against Ian’s.

                “Don’t make me a promise you can’t keep.”

                Ian was about to say something to console him when Lip rushed in through the back door, much to Sheila’s dismay since he still had his shoes on. He managed to find the boys by the stairs and fall to the floor in front of them, a bruise now forming on his cheek.

                “Jesus Christ Ian, what did you do?”

                “Long story,” Ian groaned and didn’t bother moving his arm off of Mickey. “Frank owed Mickey ten grand, they took me as a hostage, trust me you don’t wanna know the details.” Lip didn’t have to know the details. He looked between Ian and Mickey and let out a laugh of disbelief.

                “You and Mickey? Really? _Mickey Milkovich_?”

                “No,” Mickey hissed and shrugged Ian’s arm off of him.

                “Oh, yeah? Then where are your clothes and uh,” Lip cocked an eyebrow and pointed to Mickey’s cheek, “don’t even try tell me that that’s mayo on your face.” Mickey’s face flushed dark red and he remembered the streak of come on his cheek, hurriedly wiping it away with the back of his hand.

                “Shut the fuck up,” he stood up and marched upstairs, locking himself in the bathroom. Ian shot Lip an annoyed glance.

                “Mayo? Really?” He sighed and picked up their empty glasses to carry them back to the kitchen. “He’s freaking out Lip. He really thinks Terry’s gonna kill him.”

                “He probably will, you shoulda seen that prick’s right hook.” Lip pointed to the bruise and grimaced as he sat down on Sheila’s couch.

                “Just don’t give Mickey a hard time. Please?”

                “I’m not giving anyone a hard time. Just wondering what exactly you see in that fucking douchebag. At least now it all makes sense.”

                “What all makes sense?” Ian came back over and leaned back in the armchair.

                “Why he’s such an angry little shit. He’s so deep in the closet he could be Mr. fuckin’ Tumnus running around in Narnia, and his dad’s a psycho homophobe. He’s like this pissed off, repressed head case.”

                “He’s not a head case, Lip. He’s scared. Shit, _I’m_ scared. Fuck knows what Terry’s gonna do if he catches us.”

                “ _If_.” Lip grinned and Sheila came back into the living room, obviously trying to make herself useful.

                “Ian, would you and your friend like some dinner? And Lip too, of course.”

                “It’s alright, Sheils.” Lip got up and ran a hand through his hair. “I gotta get home before Terry does. You and Mick lay low, alright?” He ruffled Ian’s hair and headed for the door. “Oh and uh, stay safe. God knows what that slut upstairs has.” Ian tossed his bag of pills at Lip who dodged it and hurried out of the house.

                “Dinner would be great Sheila,” Ian sighed and got up to retrieve his pills. “Thanks.”

                “Okay just give me ten minutes, okay?” She smiled enthusiastically and shuffled to the kitchen. Ian headed upstairs and knocked on the bathroom door.

                “Mickey? You alright?” Ian heard running water and what he thought was a sniffle before Mickey responded.

                “I’m fine.”

                “Sheila’s making dinner. Okay?” Another muffled sniffle.

                “Alright, I’ll be down in a minute.”

                Ian pressed his forehead to the door. “Mickey?”

                “Jesus, can’t a man take a shit in peace?”

                “… It’s gonna be fine, okay?” A sob hidden by a violent cough came through the door and Ian looked down to see Mickey’s shadow pacing back and forth under the door. “I promise,” he whispered.

                “Whatever you say, now fuck off man I’m busy.”

                “Fine. Dinner’ll be ready in about ten minutes. Be out by then.” When Mickey didn’t respond, Ian rubbed his face and pushed the heels of his hands into his temples as he slid down to the floor against the wall. He couldn’t imagine how scared and hurt and confused Mickey must be right now. Ian never had his problem. His whole family had accepted his sexuality without surprise or offense. He couldn’t even think of what it must be like to have his family want to actually _kill_ him just for liking dick. Ian waited outside the door until he heard Sheila calling up the stairs for the boys to come down for dinner and Mickey walked out of the bathroom. His eyes were dry but they were glazed over, red and puffy. He stared down at Ian until he stood up off the floor and met his gaze. Now eye to eye, Mickey’s hardened expression softened and he grabbed Ian by the back of his head to pull him down into a kiss. Ian kissed back in surprise, having expected Mickey to ignore him and head downstairs. Mickey pulled away after a moment and pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes.

                “You better be worth it.” By the time he gruffly muttered those words he was already pulling away from Ian and heading downstairs.

                Something in Mickey’s voice made Ian feel like he really _was_ worth it.


	10. Suddenly Those Good Old Days Are Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey isn't adjusting well to the anxiety of being in hiding, and Ian does his best to make plans.

            Halfway through dinner Ian had excused himself to the upstairs bathroom. Mickey sat nearly naked at Sheila’s table, eating some foreign meal that he couldn’t pronounce, and not really knowing what to say or do. So he just sat there quietly eating his food. It seemed Sheila had other plans for him.

            “So,” she started, her usual polite smile aimed directly at Mickey who felt forced to look up at her. “How’s your cordon bleu şniţel?”

            “It’s great, thanks…” Mickey muttered and shoveled another forkful of food into his mouth. His stomach was still fluttering with paranoia, expecting his father to break down the door any minute. He felt like every skin cell was explosive and bursting out from his body like solar flares. He’d just made himself a target to his own father, and possibly anyone else his father would decide to recruit in the manhunt for his faggot son. Just the thought made Mickey sick, and he wanted to know just what the fuck was taking Ian so long in the bathroom. He felt better around the redhead because he knew they had each other’s backs.  His stomach churned with discomfort so bad that he finally set the fork back on the plate and pushed his chair away from the table. Sheila tried to ask where he was going but he was already halfway up the stairs. He didn’t bother knocking the way Ian had earlier and pushed open the bathroom door, finding Ian lying back in the tub and writing in a small pink notebook.

            “The fuck you doing?” Mickey moved to sit on the edge of the bathtub as Ian continued to scribble on his page.

            “Writing stuff. Karen let me borrow it.”

            “What’cha writing?” Mickey leaned over to see barely legible chicken scratch all over the page. He was now writing in the margins which were almost filled. There were names and numbers that Mickey couldn’t really put together.

            “Stuff. Ideas.” Ian scribbled a few more numbers and shut his eyes, his fingers twitching as if he were calculating. He opened his eyes and wrote a couple more numbers before looking over at Mickey.

            “Why don’t you come in?”

            “Nah, I’m good… Shit,” Mickey groaned and scratched at his head. “I left the gun in the living room. I’ll be right back.”

            “Mick,” Ian grabbed the waistband of Mickey’s boxers and pulled him back down to the tub. “Relax okay? Come on, get in.” Mickey sighed and pushed his boxers down, kicking them away before easing his way into the tub. Ian pulled him to lie back against his chest and wrapped his arms around him to continue writing. Mickey could see his notes more clearly now and saw the names of people and cities.

            “So what is all this?” Mickey laid his head back against Ian’s shoulder and watched him write calculations.

            “Ideas. Places we can go if Terry decides to come after us.”

            “You’re really thinking this whole thing through, aren’t you?”

            “Yeah well, it’s how I deal.” Ian’s tone bothered Mickey. He could tell Ian was a bit annoyed with him for the way he’s been handling everything. Sure, hiding in the bathroom and crying like a pussy hadn’t been his best moment and he was sure Ian wasn’t convinced that he was fine.

            “Well… Whatever happens, we’re gonna get through it.”

            “’We’? So what, now there’s an ‘us’.”

            “There better be if I’m gonna end up being assassinated for you.”

            “Would you stop? We’re gonna be fine.” Ian scoffed and kissed along Mickey’s neck. Mickey let himself enjoy it as Ian set the notebook down to wrap his arms around his chest.

            “So what kinda plans were you writing?” Mickey shuts his eyes, mumbling as he feels Ian’s lips trailing to his shoulder.

            “’Dunno yet. I was thinking maybe we could stay with my dad – my real dad – for a few days. Throw Terry off the scent especially if Fiona’s already told him we skipped town.”

            “I guess… You take your meds already tonight?” Ian pointed to the bag of pills sitting by the sink and muttered an affirmation against Mickey’s shoulder. “Look, let’s get out okay? I don’t feel too good.”

            “Would you shut the fuck up and relax for five goddamned minutes? You’re squirming too much, the water’s spilling out.”

            Mickey groaned and tried to stop moving but every moment that he didn’t move felt like another solar flare of energy was escaping his skin. It took a while, but he finally managed to just lie back against Ian and relax. Ian pressed his face into the brunet’s hair and breathed in his scent. They stayed that way for a while until Ian himself started getting squirmy, his fingers starting to prune.

            “I think we’ve been in here too long. Come on,” He patted Mickey’s shoulder but he didn’t move or say anything. A light snore came from Mickey and Ian had to hold back a chuckle. “Mick, wake up.” He whispered and shook Mickey’s shoulder until he woke with a start, water splashing out of the tub.

            “What? What happened?”

            “You fell asleep. Come on,” He pushed Mickey away gently and they both got out of the tub, Ian handing Mick a towel from the cabinet and drying himself off. They pulled on their boxers and kept the towels around their shoulders. They walked downstairs together but stopped at the last step as they heard Sheila talking at the door. Ian instinctively pulled Mickey close to him and slapped a hand over his mouth.

            “Well, my dad said Lip was heading this way, you sure they weren’t here?” Mickey recognized the sound of his brother’s voice at the door and panic began to set in again. He panted and grabbed at Ian’s hand over his mouth, shutting his eyes tight as if closing his eyes would make it all go away.

            “Phillip was here earlier, yes. But not Ian and Mickey.” Sheila, thankfully, had figured out by now that the boys didn’t want to be found. She covered for them more easily than Mickey would have thought. Mickey’s fingers curled into fists and he waited for his brother to ignore Sheila and barge right in. He was ready for a fight, but it never came. He heard his brother thank Sheila and the door click closed. Ian finally let go of Mickey and he almost collapsed. Sheila rounded the corner and saw the state of anxiety Mickey was in, doubled over with his palm resting against the wall and breathing heavily. She opened her mouth for a moment as if she were going to stay something, then shut it at the look Ian gave her.

            “I’m going to get you boys another drink,” she grimaced before adding, “and some blankets.” Sheila headed back to the kitchen but Mickey couldn’t move. He was completely rooted to the spot. A part of him was screaming that Terry knew exactly where they were and was just waiting for a chance to get them right when he thought they were safe.

            “Mickey, maybe you should sit down. You look like you’re going to be sick.” Ian held onto Mickey’s bicep and helped him sit down on the floor, leaning against the wall next to the stairs. He was still trying to catch his breath when Sheila brought them blankets, pillows, and another two glasses of vodka and orange juice. Just like earlier, Mickey downed his quickly and set the empty glass next to him. Ian set the pillows up against the wall and wrapped the blankets around them. Mickey was shaking and he felt he was on the verge of crying again, so he closed his eyes and laid his head on Ian’s shoulder.

            “Fiona’s coming tomorrow, okay? We’re gonna sort all this shit out.” Ian’s consoling voice sounded more and more distant as the haze of alcohol and drowse began to set in, catapulting Mickey into nightmarish dreams. Everything used to be so simple. He was a Milkovich; a glorified thug. And now he was hiding nearly naked in the arms of his boyfriend while his father and brothers hunted him down. Everything was easier before Ian Gallagher came into his life. Easier, but still not better.


	11. We're Not Safe Until He's Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiona isn't happy about Ian wanting to hide with Mickey, but it's clear that his mind is made up.

                “This is fucking insane, Ian.” Fiona had dragged Ian upstairs to talk in private after they’d explained everything. She had about three fits already. First, she was going to kill Frank. Then she was going to kill Ian. But in the end, she had decided on killing Mickey. Not to say that Mickey was exactly innocent here, but Ian had to force her to back off. By the time they got upstairs to talk, she had relapsed into wanting to kill Ian.

                “I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Ian bit his nails and paced around while Fiona sat on Sheila’s bed, her knees pulled up to her chest and her eyes wide.

                “I hope you know you’re not going _anywhere_ with that psychopath,” she gestured downstairs and Ian shot her an annoyed glance.

                “Mickey’s had a shit time because of his father. He’s not a psychopath, he’s scared.”

                Fiona scoffed and threw her hands up. “You’re smarter than this, Ian! Don’t you even know what Stockholm Syn—“

                “Don’t even go there. Seriously Fiona, don’t.” Ian was in his sister’s face in a flash, his voice a tad more menacing than he meant for it to be. “I don’t know what exactly is going on with us, but I knowit’s not Stockholm Syndrome. I _know_ it.” Fiona stared at him for a while before her hands dropped to rest on her knees and her expression softened slightly.

                “Okay,” she finally said soothingly and took Ian’s hand to pull him to sit with her. “But you still can’t live in hiding. You have work, and school, and what about your ROTC training?”

                “It won’t be permanent… Just a few days, until things calm down?” Ian muttered, feeling suddenly discouraged. He never really expected Terry to forgive and forget just because the boys give him space to do so. No, he was hunting them down like a bloodhound and they had to accept that they would be found eventually. Still, a few days to prepare couldn’t hurt.

                “Where are you even gonna stay?”

                “I don’t know, I wrote a whole bunch of shit. We have five grand so maybe we can go stay somewhere out of Chicago for a few days. I doubt Mickey’ll go for that though. So at this point, our best bet is my real dad—Frank’s brother.” Ian looked down and ran his hands through his hair thoughtfully.

                “How lucky you are to be the kid of the _good_ Gallagher.” Fiona sighed and tried to smile for Ian, running her thumb lightly along his jawline. “We’ll figure it out, okay? I don’t know if Terry believed us or not, but if he did then he won’t even be looking in Chicago anymore.” Ian nodded with a quiet sniffle, and tried to smile back at her. After a few moments of silence, Fiona knitted her eyebrows together with a joking grimace, “So Mickey Milkovich, huh?”

                “Shut up,” Ian snickered.

                “Not very surprising honestly,” she teased, and Ian elbowed her in the ribs until they were both laughing. “Come on. Let’s go see how your _knight in shining armor_ is doing. Though I’m pretty sure knights don’t take pretty maidens for ransom,” she muttered the last part as they walked out of the room and Ian smacked her shoulder playfully.

                When they came downstairs, Mickey had just finished pulling on the clothes that Fiona had brought for him. They were Ian’s and just a tad bit too big for him; that is to say that the green army hoodie reached almost halfway down his thighs and the sleeves were long past his fingertips. Ian watched with a grin as Mickey shook his hand out of the sleeve to scratch the tip of his nose before he noticed the redhead staring at him.

                “What?” He demanded.

                “Nothin’,” Ian’s grin only grew wider, especially when Mickey scoffed and pretended to act annoyed.

                “Your clothes are too fuckin’ big on me,” he grumbled.

                “I know,” Ian bit his lip to keep his grin from getting any bigger, but seeing Mickey in his clothes (which were even a little big on himself) was just too adorable a sight to not take a moment to appreciate. Mickey rolled his eyes and sat in the armchair, Ian’s shoulders wracked with giggles as he watched his hoodie and sweatpants envelope Mickey almost completely. Mickey shot him the finger but it was momentarily covered by his too-long sleeve which only made Ian laugh more.

                “Get a room,” Fiona said, clearly still unhappy with Mickey as she walked back to the kitchen with Sheila. Mickey raised his eyebrows at her back before turning his attention to Ian.

                “At least your family likes me,” he said sarcastically.

                “Whatever,” Ian sat on the arm of the chair Mickey was sitting in and pulled the hood up over his head, much to the brunet’s agitation. “They don’t really have to like you, ‘cause I do.” Ian watched a smile threatening to show on Mickey’s lips before he scoffed and reached for the remote of the TV. He did leave the hood up though, only because he knew Ian liked it. They watched TV, Ian’s arm around Mickey’s shoulders, and finally felt the stress of their previous night sinking away. Mickey had just started to fall asleep leaning against the redhead when he heard the front door open. His eyes snapped open and his fists curled instinctively, but he relaxed when he saw that it was just Frank. Frank did a double take when he saw the boys and Mickey was ready to kill him if he was about to make a gay joke when he simply pointed at them with a cocked eyebrow.

                “Aren’t you supposed to be holding my son hostage?” Obviously he was drunk from the way he was slurring. Ian groaned and adjusted so he was lying across Mickey’s lap, his feet swinging over the arm of the chair as he covered his face. He wanted nothing more than for Frank to go away right now, he was way too stressed to deal with his bullshit.

                “Frank, go away. I’m serious.” At the mention of Frank’s name, Fiona stormed out of the kitchen with Sheila in tow, her arms crossed over her chest and a stern look.

                “Out,” she said simply, pointing to the door.

                “But I--”

                “ _Out_ ,” she hissed. Frank shuffled out the door and Fiona handed Ian the phone.

                “Call Frank’s brother, find out if you can stay. I’ll take care of _him,_ ” her jaw set in aggravation and she followed Frank out the door. Ian pulled out his wallet and looked through it for the scrap of paper that had Clayton’s number on it, dialing it and lying back in Mickey’s lap with his eyes closed.

                “Hello?”

                “Hi, uh… It’s Ian, remember me? Monica’s kid.” Ian bit his lip, praying this would all work. “Look, I really need a favor.” Ian explained his situation, trying to hold back any trace of hope in his voice. He listened as Clayton rattled off excuses about his wife not being comfortable with it, but Ian was more than a little distracted by the way Mickey was running his hand through his hair. He opened his eyes to see that Mick was falling asleep once again, probably not even conscious of the fact that he was playing with Ian’s hair.

                “Please…” Ian was sure that to Clayton his plea sounded desperate, but the catch in his throat was more because of how much he was enjoying Mickey being so damn… Domestic. He was wearing Ian’s clothes, letting Ian lie in his lap, and running his fingers through Ian’s hair. Given, he was barely conscious. But still, Ian would take what he could get. Clayton finally agreed, promising to work something out with his wife as long as it was just for a few days. Ian thanked him quickly and ended the call, shaking Mickey awake with an ear-to-ear grin.

                “What?” He asked groggily, opening his eyes and looking down at Ian and hurriedly removing his hand from the tangle of red hair.

                “We’ve got ourselves a hideout.”

                “Jeez,” Mickey grumbled, settling into the armchair and shutting his eyes once again, “you actin’ like were Bonnie and Clyde or something.”

                Ian laughed a little and sat up so his face was closer to Mickey’s, pressing a kiss to the brunet’s lips who kissed him back sleepily. “Nope. We’re Beauty and the Beast, remember?”

                Mickey snorted but couldn't hold back his smile.

                Ian laid his head in the crook of Mickey's neck, hoping to get in a nap before they had to leave for Clayton's.

                "It's not going to fix anything, you know." Mickey said quietly. Ian didn't respond, simply slipped his arms around his waist and sighed against his skin. "He's not going to leave us alone until we're dead," his grave tone made Ian wince. "Or he is." Ian wanted to tell Mickey that he was exaggerating and that it would never come to that. But with an unstable guy like Terry, he wasn't going to make Mickey any promises he couldn't keep.


	12. Kill the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mickey manage to snip Clayton's wife's last remaining nerve, while Ian sets things straight with Mickey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you haven't noticed from this chapter, my guilty pleasure is Mickey having a praise kink and being super submissive. Not even sorry. But anyway, I can't believe so many of you have a continued interest in this and actually enjoy my writing. I know I thank you guys a lot, but you don't understand how much it makes my day to know someone likes my work. As always, thank you for reading <3

                Mickey thought he wouldn't be able to handle being in hiding well. As it turned out it was better than he had expected. He and Ian stayed inside all day just in case, but there was plenty of fun to be had in the house. Clayton himself wasn't a bad guy. He seemed genuinely interested in getting to know Ian, while he was more curious about Mickey than afraid. His wife, however, was another story. She was the fun part. She made it clear from the beginning that she held disdain towards the boys' relationship. Ian was fairly respectful, sitting with his father and talking about life, while Mickey did the best he could to annoy his wife. Sometimes in the middle of breakfast with the family Mickey would grab Ian by the waist and pull him into a heated kiss right there. Much to the wife's dismay, her sons asked a lot of questions. Most of which she answered with a glib remark. She never said anything against Ian and Mickey, for that would make her seem homophobic. But the boys heard her and Clayton's conversations where she'd beg him to make them leave and Clayton would tell her that he made a promise to help them. It comforted Mickey somewhat; to have the control over this woman that he lacked with his father. He would have thought that Ian would tell him to knock it off, but it seemed that the redhead was enjoying Mickey's games too. Clearly, he didn't like Clayton's wife either.  
  
                Almost a week passed before they managed to fuck it up.  
  
                Other than their make out sessions in front of the TV or their double entendres at the dinner table, they hadn't done much in terms of sex. Saturday night, Ian was lying on the couch with Mickey watching TV. Clayton and his wife were out at dinner and the sons had been put to bed already.  
  
                "Isn't there anything better to watch than Above The Law?" Ian groaned and laid his head in Mickey's lap. "Clayton has some DVDs lying around, we could wa--"  
  
                "Don't start with that Van Damm shit." Mickey smacked Ian's head lightly, eliciting a laugh from him.  
  
                "Okay, whatever you say." Ian grinned and adjusted his head in Mickey's lap, confused when he heard a small gasp escape the brunet's lips.  
  
                "You okay?"  
  
                Mickey muttered an affirmation and laid his head back against the couch in concentration. Ian was about to shrug it off and keep complaining about the movie, but he could feel the growing hardness in Mickey's sweatpants. He smirked wickedly and adjusted his head once more, slower this time. Mickey let out a choked groan and his hips twitched up a bit.  
  
                "Sorry, just can't get comfortable." Ian chuckled and moved more, bracing his palm against Mickey's thigh.  
  
                "Stop being an asshole and get on with it," Mickey growled, obviously catching on to Ian's game.  
  
                "I'm _always_ doing things for you. Fucking you, blowing you, finding you a hideout," Ian heard Mickey scoff and rolled over to look up at him. "Why don't you do something for me?"  
  
                Mickey's eyebrows went so high that Ian thought they might hit the ceiling. "I'm not gonna suck your dick."  
  
                "Why not?" Ian whined.  
  
                Mickey thought about it for a moment. Before he would have said "I don't do that gay shit." But he was breaking all his rules already anyway. Hell, sucking Ian off was what got him into this mess in the first place.  
  
                "Because what do I get out of it?"  
  
                "You have _me_ Mickey. You can get _anything you want_ out of it." Ian sat up, palming the bulge in Mickey's pants. Mickey inhaled sharply, letting his eyes fall shut.  
  
                "Fine... But you have to do something for me."  
  
                "And what do you want, Mick?" Ian sat up and leaned in close, speaking lowly and letting his lips ghost over Mickey's though they never touched. Mickey's breath hitched and his eyes opened and fell to Ian's lips, wishing to close the gap between them. Mickey never wanted to be that desperate douche that was too eager, but he didn't care anymore. He'd lived in the closet too long to deny himself anything anymore.  
  
                "We'll worry about what I want later," he mumbled huskily, tangling his fingers in Ian's hair and pressing their lips together roughly. Ian grabbed Mickey's waist so they could switch places, Ian resting back against the couch and Mickey making his way to the floor. He settled on his knees between Ian's legs. After making a show of unzipping Ian's jeans slowly with his teeth, Mick kissed lightly along Ian's hipbones. He nipped and sucked at the taut skin, leaving teeth marks and love bites. The redhead was getting impatient and gripped Mickey's hair, making him chuckle and take his length into his mouth. Ian's tongue flicked out over his lips as he watched the brunet work his lips around the head. He ran his tongue over the slit, licking up the precum that Ian was practically leaking. Looking up at Ian as he moaned around him, Mickey moved his head down so he was deepthroating him. Ian let out a gasping groan and tugged on Mickey's hair while Mickey wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock where his mouth couldn't reach.  
  
                "Fuck baby, your mouth is so fucking good," Ian bucked his hips up into Mickey's throat, causing the brunet to gag a bit. He didn't stop or pull off; in fact Ian's praises were spurring him on even more. He moaned hotly around Ian and reached into his sweatpants with his free hand to stroke himself.  
  
                "Fuck yeah Mick, take it deeper," Ian held Mickey's head in place and thrusted deep into his mouth until his nose hit Ian's stomach and forced his hand away. Mickey gagged and moaned and sped up the rhythm of his hand. Ian stood up and kept a hold of the sides of Mickey's head and started thrusting into his mouth, Mickey making sounds that could classify as whimpers though he'd never admit it. He'd also probably never admit how much he loved when Ian fucked his mouth like this.  
  
                "I'm so close, god Mickey your mouth is so _fucking good_ , right fucking _there_." Ian's rhythm was turning uneven and Mickey pushed at Ian's hips so he could pull off. Ian whined and protested, looking down at Mickey who'd replaced his mouth with his hand.  
  
                "The fuck are you doing?" He managed to choke out. Mickey stared up at him with his mouth hung slightly open, jerking him off with the tip of cock pointing toward his mouth. Mickey's pleading look gave him away. _So this is what he wants,_ Ian thought, a smirk spreading across his face. Ian bent over to help Mickey up and make him lie back on the couch. He'd also figured out by now that his words were turning the brunet on even more. Mickey lied back with his mouth open, small whines and moans escaping his lips as he jerked himself off. Ian straddled his chest and gripped his hair tightly between his fingers, stroking himself quickly with his free hand.  
  
                "You're such a good boy Mickey, so good with your mouth," Ian cooed between moans, watching Mickey blush and fuck his fist beneath him. Before Ian could get any more praises in, he was coming hard on Mickey's face. Mickey arched his back and closed his eyes, licking his lips. Ian chuckled lowly when he realized he didn't get any in his mouth. He ran his index finger up his cheek, wiping the come off and pushing his fingers into Mickey’s mouth who sucked on them eagerly.  
  
                "Fuck, you look so hot with my come all over your pretty face," Ian leaned down to lick up his other cheek. He kept the come on his tongue and kissed Mickey deeply, pressing their tongues together so Mickey could taste him. Mickey let out a panting moan into Ian's mouth as he came into his hand. His hand shook as he pulled it away. He was going to wipe his hand off on his sweatpants but Ian caught his wrist and pulled his fingers to his lips, licking and sucking them clean.  
  
                "What other kinks are you hiding from me, Mick?" Ian snickered but Mickey blushed and became defensive, sitting up quickly and forcing Ian off him.  
  
                "Shut up," he grumbled, using his shirt to wipe the remaining come from his face. He figured he looked as embarrassed as he felt by the way Ian was watching him with a concerned expression.  
  
                "Mickey," Ian started, wincing when he reached for Mickey's shoulders and he shrugged him off. "Come on, I thought you liked it."  
  
                "Liking what I like don't make me a bitch," Mickey said quickly, as if it were his sole statement as a guilty murderer in a crowded courtroom. He pulled his sweatpants back up and moved to stand, but Ian had him pinned back down on the couch in a second.  
  
                "I know that. You don't have to prove anything to me. I _know_ Mick. Okay?" He stared into Mickey's eyes and spoke earnestly. Mickey seemed to relax considerably, his shoulders sinking into the couch as Ian leaned down to kiss his collarbone. "You're still a big, badass beast okay?" He teased. "Only I know that you like to be a good boy. My good boy," he whispered into Mickey's ear, sending a shudder up the young Milkovich's spine.  
  
                "Whatever," Mickey mumbled. "As long as what happens in bed stays in bed."  
  
                "Technically we're on a couch."  
  
                "Fuck off, I'm serious," he said sternly, though he bit back a smile.  
  
                "Hi Serious, I'm Ian." Ian had been nibbling on Mickey's ear but stopped as they both burst out into sputtering laughter, Ian's ridiculous grin making Mickey smile even more.  
  
                "Come on, let's get a shower." Ian pressed a kiss to Mickey's lips and rolled off of him, helping him up and leading him through the hallway.  
  
  
                When Ian woke up, he found Clayton's wife throwing all their shit out of the window to the snow outside.  
  
                "What the fuck!?" Ian shouted, shaking Mickey awake quickly.  
  
                "I want you two out of my house!" She screeched and continued throwing their bag of clothes outside. Knowing they would get nothing out of her but angry banshee screams, Ian bolted out of bed to the kitchen where he found Clayton sitting at the counter.  
  
                "Your wife is tossing all our shit outside!" Mickey stood beside with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed. "What the fuck is going on?"  
  
                "My sons," Clayton took a deep breath and looked at the boys' feet as he was unable to meet their eyes, "said someone spilled _milk_ on the couch." Ian knew this was very serious; after all they were being kicked out of their hideout. But he couldn't help the laughing fit that ensued when he glanced over at the couch and saw an obvious white stain where he must have missed Mickey's face last night. Mickey's face was beet red but he was laughing too, happy to have caused Clayton's wife trouble. Ian didn't expect to be welcome in the house after that. He slipped his hand into Mickey's and took him outside, picking up their stuff and slinging bags over his shoulder. They pulled on their shoes and jackets and Ian sighed.  
  
                "Let's go home," he said, making Mickey scoff.  
  
                "What do you mean ‘home’? We've been hiding for a reason, Gallagher. Or have you been too busy playing fucking house to remember?"  
  
                "Fiona's right, okay? We can't hide from him forever. There's school, family, friends, I have ROTC training Mick I can't just never go home."  
  
                "You wanna fuckin' die or something? Because my dad will kill us if we go back."  
  
                "He can _try_. If he doesn't expect us back, we can get the jump on him--"  
  
                "No, you're being a fucking idiot," Mickey shook his head violently and pulled his hand away from Ian's. "We can't _get the jump_ on him, bitch is probably sleeping with one eye open and waiting for us."  
  
                "Stop talking about him like he's a fucking god Mick, he's a man. A piece of shit human being like the rest of us. Quit being such a fucking pussy and stand up to him."  
  
                "Next time you call me a pussy, I'm gonna rip your fucking tongue out." Mickey hissed, tired of Ian calling him weak. Mickey turned to start walking toward the bus stop when he felt Ian's lips at his ear.  
  
                "Pussy." Mickey reeled back and elbowed Ian in the stomach, hearing him grunt in pain behind him. He turned to look at him but was met with a closed fist that sent him tumbling into the snow. Ian sat on Mickey's chest and held his hands above his head.  
  
                "Stop." Ian said with finality. "Mickey, just stop. I'm not your fucking hostage anymore, you can't slap me around because I call you on your weak bullshit." Mickey squirmed under Ian to try and get away, but Ian kept a tight grip on his wrists. "You're my boyfriend, and you can't make me shut up with your fists. If you want me to shut up, then I will. I'll shut up because I'll be gone and you'll _never_ hear from me again. Is that what you want? Tell me now, so I can decide whether I'm going home alone or not." Mickey looked visibly hurt. He stared up at Ian and stopped struggling, his limbs going limp. Ian moved off the brunet's chest and lied beside him in the snow, the broken look in his baby blue eyes having given Ian his answer. Mickey was quiet for a bit before Ian felt his back going numb from the cold snow.  
  
                "ROTC?" Mickey asked quietly.  
  
                "Yeah. I wanna be in the army. Be an officer."  
  
                "I didn't know that..." Mickey muttered and Ian laughed a little sadly.  
  
                "We don't know much about each other, do we?" Mickey sensed a tone of doubt in Ian's voice and he sat up quickly, looking at him with a stern yet fearful expression.  
  
                "We know enough." Ian sat up and looked at Mickey; _really_ looked at him for the first time. He didn't see a Milkovich. He didn't see Frank, or Monica, or Terry. He saw a scared, beaten boy from a broken home who needed Ian more than he'd ever say. He saw Mickey. The Mickey who took him hostage. The Mickey who beat him with a gun and a closed fist. The Mickey he kissed, the Mickey he fucked, the Mickey he'd been slowly but surely falling in love with. Mickey.  
  
                "So... What's the plan?" Mickey said hesitantly.  
  
                "Kill the beast," Ian's fingertips ghosted over Mickey's cheek. "The _real_ beast."


	13. Both A Little Scared, Neither One Prepared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey lets go just enough on the bus ride home for Ian to stop being so upset, only for the stress to finally eat away at him. Ian realizes just how deep in this he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is getting close to the end, I believe. I've had so much fun writing this like you don't understand. To quote AmericanDelRey's comment, I'm fucking yodeling. Like seriously, I love Ian and Mickey and sometimes I'll be writing and just dying and screaming and yodeling over the situations I've put them in. Plus, domestic Mick has a special place in my heart so there's more of that this chapter. Enjoy!

                Much of the bus ride home was spent in silence. Ian was hunched over in his seat, grabbing at his bruised stomach where Mickey had elbowed him; and Mickey was too distracted to talk at all. He kept thinking of what Ian had called him. His boyfriend. Is that what they were, boyfriends? Mickey never had an actual _friend_ much less a girlfriend or boyfriend. He fucked people and then he was done with them. Somehow it was different with Ian, ever since the beginning. While he was always annoyed by unnecessary touch or kissing, he _craved_ it from Ian. He wanted the rest of his life spent with one hand entangled in soft, red hair and the other intertwined with pale, callused fingers. He wanted his lips to be forever swollen and chapped from their ferociously insatiable kisses, his arms weak from constant embrace. And maybe he could, if he could just let go like Ian wanted. Mickey always wondered what kind of boyfriend he'd be if he allowed himself to let go, and he realized he would be just like he was at Clayton's house. Random kisses and surprise breakfasts in bed, smoking a cigarette with his arm around Ian and being happier than he could ever remember being.  
  
 _Fuck,_ Mickey thought. _Gallagher’s fucking domesticating me._  
  
                Every bump in the road shot pain through Ian's gut and a fresh wave of guilt through Mickey's chest. Ian was obviously still upset with him by the way he avoided his eyes and stared out the window. Mickey couldn't help but think of how lucky the sky was to be graced with that green glassy gaze. The brunet chewed on his bottom lip and tried to think of a way to ease Ian's anger without kissing him right there on the bus in front of everyone since it was pretty full.  
  
 _But that's fucking it, isn't it_? Mickey mused and watched Ian's dark expression in the reflection of the widow. Ian wanted him to come out. From the very beginning he'd been trying to get Mickey to admit he was gay. He'd already admitted it to himself, but that wasn't enough for Ian. No, he wanted Mickey to stop being ashamed. Desperate to make certain that Ian wouldn't stay mad at him he tilted the redhead's chin towards him and kissed him full on the mouth, inhaling his breath like the very oxygen he needed to live. Mickey loved the way Ian tasted like cigarettes and berries and cinnamon and god knows what other wonders that flooded his tongue and lips. He heard several 'aww's, wolf-whistles, and disgusted groans from other passengers nearby, but he could care less because Ian was kissing him back. Nothing mattered as long as Ian kissed him back.  
  
                After a long while, Ian pulled away slowly. He rested his forehead against Mickey's and gave a gentle nod. He knew Ian was still a little upset, but the tension eased between them eased considerably. Mickey reached for Ian's hand and laced their fingers together, chuckling to himself as he noticed the contrast between Ian's clean, slender fingers and Mickey's tattooed knuckles. How odd a couple they must have seemed; a stout, vulgar hood rat and a gangly ginger. Mickey realized he'd been holding Ian's hand so tightly that his knuckles had gone white, the "U-UP" tattoo standing out even more now. Ian hadn't pulled away though, despite the fact that Mickey must have been crushing his hand. If anything, he was holding Mickey's just as tight. Mickey was grinning like an idiot, but that was when it hit him. They were about to kill the beast. All the stress from the last week came rushing back in a violent spiral and Mickey found himself squeezing Ian’s hand even tighter.  
  
                When the bus finally stopped near their neighborhood, Mickey refused to get off the bus. He froze at the doors of the bus as they separated. He felt paralyzed in place, and the aggravated shouts of the passengers behind him were doing nothing to get him moving again. Ian grabbed his shoulders gently, pressing his chest against the brunet's back.  
  
                "Mickey, walk." He couldn't. He was overtaken by vertigo and he thought he was going to blow chunks all over the sidewalk below.  
  
                "Mickey." Ian said softer. "Walk." Mickey swallowed the lump in his throat and stepped off the bus with Ian in tow. Ian slipped his hand into Mickey's but he yanked it away quickly. Ian wasn't offended; he didn't want to push Mick too far when he already felt like he was walking out on a ledge. Mickey was walking fast but he didn't know where he was going. He felt like he was going in circles as bile crept up his throat and pangs of panic resonated through his bones. He felt Ian's hands on his shoulders again, pointing him in the opposite direction.  
  
                "My house is this way, remember?" The redhead said, worry dripping from his tone. Mickey let out a little breath of relief. He was grateful that they weren't going to his own home yet. He didn't feel ready to confront his dad. Really, he'd never be ready. But right now would have been the worst possible time. Ian kept his hands on Mickey's shoulders as they walked toward his house. His eyes darted around nervously the whole way until they finally made it, Ian propping his shell-shocked boyfriend against the porch steps so he could knock on the door. Debbie opened the door and practically jumped Ian, all happy smiles and giggles. She told him she'd missed him and all that but her smile faded when she saw Mickey panting there on the porch, white as a ghost.  
  
                "Ian, isn't that Mandy's brother?" She pointed to him in confusion and by the time Ian turned to look at Mickey, his eyes were rolling back and his legs had given out, sending him tumbling down the stairs. Ian cursed and went to try to catch Mickey before he got hurt, but he was already lying face down in the snow at the bottom of the steps. Ian peeked his head inside and yelled for Lip to come down. He knelt beside Mickey and rolled him onto his back. After wiping the snow from his paled face, Ian found he was out cold. Debbie retreated back into the house once Lip had made his way out, leaving her older brothers to carry the ill brunet into the house. After they'd gotten him to the couch, she could see how distressed Ian was over the unconscious boy so she scurried next door to fetch Veronica.

 

                The world was spinning upside down and backwards when Mickey finally woke up. His mouth was dryer than hell and his neck was itching like crazy, but he felt distant and good. He wasn’t used to sleeping alone anymore because of the past week in hiding so when his hand searched the sheets beside him and didn't find the warmth of Ian's skin, he groaned in disappointment.

                “Those painkillers are treating you good, I guess?” Even through his haze, Mickey recognized that voice. He opened his eyes slowly and looked up to find Ian sitting in a chair that he’d pulled up to the bed. The pain that shot through his head when he tried to sit up nearly had him whimpering and Ian pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him back down to the bed.

                “Don’t try to get up. You hit your head pretty hard goin’ down the stairs.” Ian spoke almost guiltily, as if Mickey passing out was his fault and Mick wanted to set him straight so he knew it wasn’t. Still, he was too dizzy to argue right now. His moved to scratch at his neck, but Ian caught his wrist gently and pulled it back down to his side.

                “And don’t scratch your neck; you’ll make it worse.”

                Mickey blinked a few times and finally managed to speak, his voice coming out low and hoarse. Fuck, his throat was killing him. “Make what worse?”

                “Stress rash. Debbie used to get ‘em all the time,” Ian sounded like he was about to go on but he stopped to catch Mickey’s hand again and huffed impatiently. “If you don’t stop then I’m going to make you wear oven mitts. Do you wanna be treated like a kid with chicken pox?”

                “No,” Mickey croaked out and laced his weak fingers with Ian’s. “No mitts. Hands.” He mumbled and looked at Ian’s hands insistently, trying to get what he wanted to say across but still confused by the daze his painkillers and his near concussion had put him in. Ian knitted his brows together as he tried to understand Mickey’s drugged muttering, but he finally caught on and smiled a little as he intertwined the fingers of both their hands together.

                “Better?” Ian asked and Mickey nodded, closing his eyes once again without another word. The position was a bit awkward, but Ian was so happy that Mickey was okay and Mickey was so drugged up that neither really minded. Mickey fell asleep soon after. His grip on Ian’s hands grew weak before his fingers were completely limp and soft snores escaped his still chapped lips. Ian kept a hold of Mickey’s hands and watched over as he slept, Veronica coming to check on him once more before she headed back home. Kevin had come over at some point, but he didn’t go home with her. Instead, he sat on the bottom half of the bunk bed and watched Ian and Mickey for a moment with raised eyebrows.

                “Terry Milkovich still trying to cut your balls off?”

                “My balls are the least of my worries right now,” Ian chuckled a bit. “Fiona told you?”

                “Nah, guys at the bar,” Kevin said carefully, gauging Ian’s reaction. Ian’s mouth fell open and his eyes dropped to the floor. He knew what answer he would get, but he asked anyway.

                “How’d they know?”

                “Terry’s had all his friends and shit out looking for you,” Kevin chewed on the inside of his cheek before adding, “but it’s not really like anyone was surprised.”

                “Iwas. A bit.” Ian lied through his teeth. He knew from the start Mickey was gay. He always thought his gaydar was just totally on point, but he was sure everyone else would have been surprised to find out that a Milkovich of all men would be a homo.

                “Oh come on, with their dad being like that? There was bound to be at least _one_. After all, repress the natural and it comes back even stronger,” Kevin pointed with a self-satisfied grin.

                Ian wrinkled his nose. “Where’d you hear that?”

                “... The “About Us” page of a fetish porn site.” They stared at each other for a moment before they started laughing, Ian letting go of one of Mickey’s hands to rub his eyes so he wouldn’t start crying.

                “Porn is wiser than I remember,” Ian said through his laughs.

                “I guess you don’t really need porn anymore, do you?” Kevin teased and snickered as Ian chucked a pillow at his head. “Hey don’t get salty, sweetie. You should get some rest. After all, Terry’ll probably be back again within the next day or two,” he said as he stood up to leave.

                “Wait,” Ian stammered. “What do you mean?”

                “He’s been coming by at least every other day to look for you two. He’s really out for blood man, be careful.” Kevin ruffled Ian’s hair before heading out, leaving him pulling at his red hair and cursing under his breath. Ian had heard stories about Terry Milkovich, that he was ruthless. There were even rumors going around that he killed his wife. If he could do that, what would stop him from killing his own son and his boyfriend? Mickey was in no condition to be attacked by his dad; hell, even Veronica said she’d be surprised if he made it out of bed tomorrow. All the stress had finally gotten to him and Ian cursed himself for not noticing sooner. Had Mickey been like this on the bus? Fuck, he should have seen it. He should have seen it and stopped and told Mickey they could take that five grand and stay in a hotel for a few days so they could prepare. But no, he hadn’t seen it. And now Mickey was sick. Ian groaned and pushed the thoughts out of his head. This was no time for a pity party; he had to take care of Mickey. The bruises on his stomach looked like nothing compared to the dark, purplish black circles that had developed under Mickey’s eyes, and he was in a constant cold sweat. Anything that could have been done to help him, Veronica had already done and without his help. All he could do now was wait for Mickey to wake up and hope it would be soon. At the very least, before Terry came looking for them.


	14. It's A Nightmare But It's One Exciting Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey starts to recover from his stress-related sickness and Ian is finally found by Terry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god oh god oh god don't even look at me I'm terrible and awkward at writing endings goddammit. That's always been my weak spot, writing good endings that provide a sense of closure. Anyway, I've absolutely loved writing this fic and I can't tell you how happy it makes me that so many of you stuck around for the ride, giving me such sweet support and comments. I hope you all enjoyed and if you want more of my work, don't worry another multi-chapter fic will be coming right up <3 and hopefully the ending of that one will be better than this one *rolls eyes at self*.

                It was nearly a full day before Mickey woke up again. He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around the room, still somewhat dizzy. There was a bunk bed beside the door and a kid’s bed in the corner. There _was_ a kid sleeping in it, but he didn’t seem like he could be Frank’s son at all considering he was black. Another woman’s? Foster kid maybe? Mickey wasn’t sure and he didn’t think he could bother to figure it out right now; his head felt like it was being crushed between two cinderblocks. Judging by the army paraphernalia around the bed he was in, he figured he must have been in Ian’s bed. The only problem was that Ian wasn’t in it with him. He pressed his face in the pillow, hoping for the scent of the redhead. Unfortunately it didn’t smell anything like Ian but rather like himself. He huffed and did his best to sit up and swing his legs over the edge of the bed. He almost vomited from the dizziness but it passed after a few moments. He picked up one of Ian’s shirts that was hanging off the foot of the bed and pulled it on, noting the familiar scent as it went over his face. As soon as he stood up, he noticed the little kid squirming around in the bed and whining quietly. He approached him slowly, not really sure what he should do when the kid woke up crying. God knows Mickey had no fucking clue what to do with kids, but he didn’t think he should just leave him there looking terrified. He picked up the boy awkwardly and almost doubled over, his body still in pain from falling down the stairs. The kid seemed to relax as Mickey rocked him in his arms and the crying finally subsided.

                “The fuck are you doing?” Mickey recognized the voice of Ian’s sister behind him, clutching the kid tighter to his chest in a panic as he turned around to look at her. She hurried over and took the kid from his arms and he couldn’t help but feel offended. It wasn’t like he was strangling him.

                “He was scared, the fuck did you want me to do?” Mickey growled and started heading out of the room although his gait was unsteady due to his haziness. He heard Fiona cursing lowly behind him as he made his way downstairs. On the last step he coughed a little too hard and he almost threw up, falling to his knees and holding his stomach. His temples ached and he could barely see in front of him. A pair of arms hooked under his and dragged him up off the floor, helping him over to the couch. His vision soon cleared and he could see Fiona sitting on the coffee table with her elbows resting on her knees.

                “Where’s Ian?” He muttered, hating silence more than the fight that would probably ensue.

                “ROTC. I told him not to go, he looked really beat. Probably because he stayed up all night watching over your unconscious ass.” The tone of accusation in was unmistakable.

                “Yeah well, I didn’t tell him to.”

                “He woulda done it even if you told him not to.” Mickey cocked his eyebrows up at her and scoffed.

                “Whatever, not my problem.” He reached over for the pack of cigarettes that was on the table but she slapped his hand away.

                “Yes, your problem. It became your problem when you _kidnapped_ him.” Fiona had her finger shoved into Mickey’s face, who winced when she basically reminded him what a piece of shit he was.

                “It became you problem when you made him think that he loved you, and that you loved him back.”

                “You ever think that maybe he does, and I do?” Mickey hissed, and recoiled from her at the exact moment she recoiled from him. It seemed what he said surprised both of them.

                “You? Love?” Fiona wasn’t being cruel, she was just surprised. But to Mickey who’d only ever experienced cruelty, it didn’t sit well with him. He snatched the pack of cigarettes and lighter before she could slap his hand again and lit one up. Taking a long drag, he glared up at her.

                “You don’t understand, so don’t worry about it.” He moved to take another drag but Fiona took the cigarette from between his fingers.

                “I do worry about it, because that’s my brother thinking he loves a—“

                “A what? A Milkovich? A thug? You know just ‘cause I do what I have to livin’ in the fuckin’ South Side doesn’t mean I’m _complete_ trash.” Mickey stood up to get away from her but the world was reeling away from him, his headache returning. Fiona grabbed his shoulders and made him sit back on the couch, sitting beside him.

                “Everything happening with you two—your family, and especially his disorder—it’s almost impossible to deal with.”

                “Don’t fuckin’ tell me what’s impossible!” Mickey’s eyebrows furrowed in anger and he watched Fiona’s eyes go wide in surprise. She must have thought the only passion that Milkoviches had were drinking and fighting. But Mickey was passionate about Ian. You wouldn’t see him risking life and limb with his father for someone who he didn’t love completely. Hell, just a week ago he would have thought living to 18 would be impossible. But now the only impossible thing to Mickey was life without Ian.

                “Look just… Don’t hurt him. Ever. Because if I see him ever get hurt because of _you_ ,” she pushed her finger into his chest, “then your dad won’t have to worry about killing you ‘cause you’ll be long dead, your face will be disfigured beyond _recognition_.” Fiona’s softened expression didn’t match her threats. But Mickey could understand her wanting her little brother to be okay. If anyone were to fuck with Mandy, he’d hunt them down in an instant. He gave Fiona a small nod and took the cigarette back and held it between his lips.

                “I won’t.” Fiona stared him down for a moment before sighing and standing up, heading toward the door.

                “Look I gotta go. When Ian gets back, make sure he goes to bed.”

                “Don’t worry, I will.” Mickey hadn’t meant to sound dirty but he figured he did when a shoe was chucked at the back of his head. He cursed and rubbed the spot the shoe had hit as it was still sore from hitting it the other day. He lied back against the couch, finishing his cigarette as he thought about Ian. He wasn’t about to argue that he loved Ian or not because that much had become clear to him over the last week, but he couldn’t believe that Ian loved him. He couldn’t help but wonder if Ian had expressly told Fiona that, or if she’d just assumed it. Most likely the latter.

                A cry from upstairs made Mickey want to scream. The kid must have woken up again. He put the burned out cigarette in the ashtray and headed upstairs to find him in bed, tossing and turning again. Mickey groaned and went to pick him up, rocking him and looking at him.

                “Shhh, hey look at me,” he said a little too harshly, the kid looking at him in fear.

                “Uh, what’s your name?” His voice was full of uncertainty. He didn’t know jack shit about kids, and he was trying hard just not to scare this one.

                “Liam…” He mumbled into Mickey’s shoulder, still whimpering.

                “Liam,” he said awkwardly with a little smile. Distracting him seemed to be calming him down. He heard the door open downstairs and he glanced towards the door, still rocking Liam. Maybe it was Ian.

                “Cool name. You uh, hungry or anything?” He watched Liam nod softly. “A’right, you stay here, I’ll be right back.” Mickey set Liam back on his bed and jogged out of the room to head downstairs. By the time he reached the foot of the stairs, he realized something was wrong. The front door was wide open but no one was in the living room. He heard something clatter to the floor in the kitchen and turned on his heels to run in there. He found Ian fallen against the bottom steps of the stairs and his father holding him there, one hand closed around Ian’s neck and his other fist landing relentless punches to his face that was already swollen and bleeding. Mickey had spent the last week thinking of endless ways to run _away_ from his father when he found them, but only one idea came to mind now.

                “Get the fuck off him!” Mickey jumped on his father’s back and hooked one arm around his throat, hearing Ian cough from the stairs as his father stood up and swung him around. He backed up against the washing machine and Mickey let out a cry of pain as it hit him in the middle of his spine. Finally his father bent forward and threw him to floor on his back, knocking the wind right out of him. He lifted his foot to step on Mickey’s head, but Ian practically dived at him and threw him back against the machine before he could. Terry went after Ian again and pinned him to the floor, wailing on his face. Mickey scrambled to his feet and managed to grab his dad by his arms, pulling to hold them behind his back. He planted his foot in the middle of Terry’s back and pushed forward while he kept pulling his arms back until he heard the violent pop of his arms being ripped out of their sockets. The sound alone made Ian and Mickey wince as Terry fell to the floor. While Terry lied in absolute pain on the floor, Mickey ran upstairs and grabbed the Colt from his bag of stuff before he came back down, pressing his foot into his father’s throat and pointing the gun in his face.

                “Mick,” Ian said cautiously, coming up to him. But Mickey wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t about to kill his father and end up in juvie or worse. No, he was smarter than anyone would give him credit for.

                “Get his wallet.” Mickey kept the gun at Terry’s face but looked back to see Ian giving him the most “you’re-a-fucking-psycho-what-are-you-doing” look he’s ever seen before.

                “Just fucking do it, okay Firecrotch?” Ian laughed a little at the nickname Mickey had for him and finally reached over, searching Terry’s pockets for his wallet.

                “Don’t touch anything in it, but what’s there?” Ian opened the wallet as much as he could without touching anything.

                “Uh, a couple 20’s, credit card, and a few little baggies.”

                “Baggies of what?” Mickey asked as a grin spread slowly across his face.

                “Little of weed, and three other bags of this like, whitish powder.”

                “Whitish? Must be Special K then. Hey, pick up that phone,” he cocked his head towards the phone, “and call Tony. The cop.”

                “Okay,” Ian said slowly and headed over to the phone, still a little confused.

                “All those drugs? I’m pretty sure that’s violating your probation. So now while you’re getting fucked by the justice system, I’ll be here getting fucked by _cock_.” Mickey listened to his father scream every possible fag-bashing insult in history but he didn’t much care as he looked back at Ian who finally understood and dialed Tony’s number. Terry tried to move to get up, but his arms were useless and Mickey probably hurt his back too by stepping into it. Just for good measure, he shot one of his legs so he couldn’t move. Ian was grinning wide and telling Tony to come get Terry. Mickey looked down at Terry with the smuggest grin he could muster and he felt Ian come up behind him, snaking his arms around his waist and kissing along his neck. He was about to shove him off, but seeing the look of disgust in his dad’s eyes made him only encourage it.

                “Tony’ll probably be here in fifteen,” Ian said as he nibbled at Mickey’s ear.

                “Let’s see how much we can do in fifteen then,” Mickey laughed when his father tried to spit at them but missed by a long shot. He didn’t have to think hard about what would piss Terry off the most; somehow the gayest thing possible to his father was sucking dick. And not even being on the receiving end, but giving head was somehow the worst. Mickey whirled around and grabbed Ian by his hips, shoving him against the washing machine. He dropped to his knees and yanked Ian’s army pants down. He didn’t bother to look up and see his surprised expression before he took his cock into his mouth, earning a moan from Ian and an insult from Terry. Mickey sort of ignored both of them; he was too happy about the fact that he’d won. His dad found out he was gay and he wasn’t dead as a result. All the fear and stress that had made him fall ill seemed to melt away, the rash on his neck barely bothering him anymore. Mickey cupped Ian’s balls and could tell how close he was by how tight they were and how he was tugging harshly at Mickey’s hair.

                “Oh fuck – _Oh fuck!”_ The back door opened and Ian jumped, accidentally thrusting into Mickey’s throat and coming harder and sooner than Mickey had anticipated. Mickey did his best not to choke and swallowed him down, sucking slowly so Ian could ride out the orgasm. Whoever was at the back door, Mickey couldn’t care less at this point. The biggest fear he had about his sexuality was his dad finding out and that ship had sailed a long while ago. Finishing Ian off (and pissing his dad off as much as possible) was his priority right now.

                “T-Tony, you came e-early,” Ian managed to choke out between quiet moans and pants.

                “He’s not the only one,” Mickey grumbled after he stood up, kissing Ian deeply before finally turning to Tony. Tony seemed perplexed by the situation as a whole. Terry Milkovich on the floor screaming curses and bleeding, Ian Gallagher beaten up and bleeding, and Mickey Milkovich on his knees blowing Ian Gallagher _in front_ of Terry Milkovich. He held his gun up and stared between the three of them.

                “Um, yeah. I was already nearby but uh… I’m sorry what is uh, what am I supposed to do here?” Ian snorted at Tony as he pulled his pants back up.

                “Terry here,” Mickey said and pointed to his bleeding father, “attacked Ian and me. ‘Cause we’re fucking _gay_.” He almost yelled the word toward his father. “I shot him in self-defense. Then we found weed and Special K in his wallet. You need to take him in, ‘cause that’s breaking his probation.” Tony seemed to understand the situation now to at least a minimal extent. His partner came in a moment later and was about to start asking questions when Tony told him he’d explain in the car. They got Terry up, who started spitting towards the boys and screaming again, and carried him out of the house to the cop car after searching his wallet and finding the drugs. Once the door closed behind them, Ian started laughing and punched Mickey’s arm who almost doubled over with the shakes as his adrenaline rush passed.

                “I can’t believe you just sucked my dick in front of your dad,” Ian laughed harder and leaned back against the washing machine to steady himself. Mickey started laughing too. Not just because of the situation but because when Ian Gallagher laughed, it was a crime not to laugh too. It was like not going out during the perfect summer day. Sunshine was the best word Mickey could think of to describe Ian’s laugh. Then again, sunshine could describe anything about Ian.

                “Neither can I, shit.” Mickey sat on top of the washer and watched Ian laugh and grin, unable to stop himself from cupping his cheeks and pulling him into another kiss. There was still blood on Ian’s lips from his fight with Terry, but Mickey didn’t mind it. He ran his tongue along Ian’s bottom lip, licking up the blood. Ian pulled away after a few minutes and looked at Mickey with a serious expression.

                “What are we going to do when he gets out?” Ian asked, cocking his head in no particular direction but definitely meaning Mickey’s dad.

                “Exactly what we did today. Win.” Mickey hopped off the washing machine and went to grab a rag from the counter. He got it wet and wrung it out so it was damp and headed back to Ian, working on cleaning the blood from his face.

                “Wish you hadn’t fucking bled so much,” he complained. “I told Liam I’d bring him food like fifteen minutes ago, and you’re gonna take forever to get clean.” Ian cocked an eyebrow at Mickey as a smug smirk came to his lips.

                “You were gonna make my little brother lunch?”

                “Yeah, he said he was hungry and I—“ Mickey was cut off when he saw Ian’s huge grin. “What?!”

                “Nothing, that’s just so… boyfriendly of you.” Ian’s simpering was making Mickey flush with embarrassment.

                “Fuck off, you can clean your own goddamn face now.” Mickey shoved the rag into Ian’s hand and started searching the kitchen for anything Liam could eat. Still, his smile never wavered. He knew he’d never let anyone call him out on his domestic moments, but Ian was a special case. He’d also never let anyone kiss him. But as Ian pulled him into another quick kiss before handing him a pack of macaroni and cheese for Liam, he realized Ian was always going to be a special case. Ian could kiss him, sleep with him, hold him, fuck him, do _anything_ he wanted to Mickey. And Mickey would always let it happen. Hell, he’d love it. Ian wasn’t just a special case; he was _everything_. And fuck if Mickey wouldn’t admit it out loud that Ian was a damn beauty right now, smiling and lighting up the whole city like the fucking Fourth of July even covered in blood. And maybe Mickey was a beast, but is that so bad? Somewhere inside there’s a Prince Adam he would never let anyone see. But of course, Ian was a special case.


End file.
